


Middle Ground

by almostsophie1



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hate to Love, Lyrium Withdrawal, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 78,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5673901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostsophie1/pseuds/almostsophie1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you have a problem with the Inquisition?” Cullen snapped, his head pounding and his patience completely worn thin. The woman seemed incapable of being anything other than infuriating as she continued to glare at him with hardened eyes.<br/>“No, Commander, not *a* problem. Many.”<br/>--</p><p>The Herald of Andraste recruits a pragmatic, icy apothecary in the Hinterlands. A certain Commander, haunted by his past and plagued with lyrium withdrawal, immediately clashes with the woman. But then arguments turn into conversations, and frustration into something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thoughts on the Inquisition?

            He woke, panting and covered in sweat.

            _Not in Kinloch Hold. Not in Kinloch Hold. Haven,_ Cullen breathed deeply, moving on from those words to the chant. _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

His head was already aching as he swung his legs over the edge of his cot, getting himself into a sitting position. He rubbed a shaking hand over his face, palm scratching over his stubble as he did so.

            Cullen stood slowly in the darkness—barely any light peeked through the flaps of his tent, and the morning air was frigid as he began pulling on his armor.

            Josephine had tried to convince Cullen to take a cabin, but he’d insisted that a tent would be just as suitable. He had no desire to take a cabin away from someone who had more need of it than he. After all, Cullen spent most of his time overseeing the recruits or giving orders in the War Room.

            After the Herald left for the Hinterlands, there had been relative quiet. The world was watching to see what the Inquisition would do next, and Josephine had been doing her best to dispel the words of Chancellor Roderick.

            Cullen leaned over the washbasin and splashed icy water over his face, wondering if the Herald had made it to the Crossroads yet.

            Lavellan was not at all what he expected, though maybe Cullen didn’t have any expectations at all. The woman was blunt, spoke with constant sarcasm, and denied any belief in Andraste or the Maker. She would not have been Cullen’s first choice for the face that represented the Inquisition, but she was strong and determined. And Cullen knew that his real concern was her magic.

            Stepping outside his tent, Cullen put a hand on his sword, grateful that the tremble in his fingers had subsided. The last thing he needed was Leliana probing him about how he was feeling, or Josephine’s delicate concern.

            And thank the Maker Cassandra was gone as well. It seemed like it would be a long day, as Cullen could already feel _hunger_ in the pit of his stomach, and his temples continued to pound.

            “Commander!”

            “What is it?” Cullen looked over to see Rylen in the pale morning light, though the Starkhaven accent would’ve given the man away regardless.

            “A report. The Lady Seeker and the Herald should be reaching the Crossroads this morning to speak with Mother Giselle. Their party has sustained no injuries, according to the report we received in the middle of the night.” Rylen answered.

            Cullen nodded. “Good. Anything else?”

            Rylen had a familiar expression on his face, and Cullen sighed. “What’s gone wrong now?”

            It was indeed going to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

            “It’s the Herald! The Herald of Andraste is here!”

            Addison Mare looked up from the box she was packing and stood, brushing the grass and dirt from her knees.

            The little girl shouting the news raced to Addison’s side through refugees who started mumbling to each other with expectation. “The Inkasition soldier told me himself that the Herald is coming this way right now. She just took down a dozen Templars and twenty apostates with a wave of her hand.”

            Addison quirked an eyebrow and didn’t bother questioning the child. Stories of this so-called Herald were certainly growing. The girl’s face was shining with the news of her new hero, and Addison forced herself to swallow a pessimistic retort. “What’s the Herald doing here, Lina?”

            The girl shook her head. “Don’t know. Maybe she’s come to save us. Keep the baddies away. If anyone can do it, its her.”

            Addison scanned the area for the Dalish elf rumored to be the emissary of Andraste herself. _As if Andraste and the Maker give a damn about anything that happens in Thedas,_ Addison scowled.

            Her mother would most likely lecture Addison on wearing such an expression, but Addison was twenty-one and jaded enough to be a creaky old woman telling youngsters that the Maker had no such interest in the world, and the Herald of Andraste might as well be some lunatic from the Free Marches who happened to be able to interact with the giant hole in the sky.

            Lina jumped up and down, clapping her hands and pulling Addison from her internal grumblings. “Look, Addie!”

            Then she saw them, likely because the refugees were pointing and whispering.

            Two elves, a dwarf, and a woman—all armed. The Dalish elf was distinguished by the tattoos on her face, dark green against golden brown skin. And a mage, for an added perk.

            Addison’s frown deepened. The last thing needed at the Crossroads was another damn mage. And it looked like the other elf was wielding a staff as well.

            Addison picked up the box of herbs she’d been sorting and headed toward Mother Giselle, with Lina trailing behind. The chantry woman was far too preachy for Addison’s liking, but she had done better than anyone else at the Crossroads of keeping order.

            Giselle was hushing an Inquisition soldier, the man Addison recognized as being a whimpering idiot.

            “Don’t let them touch me, Mother!” The man clutched at his side while glaring at an apostate. “Their magic—”

            “Turned to noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade.” Giselle soothes.

            The soldier shook his head. “But—”

            Addison tightened her grip on the box of herbs as she fixed a glare on the Inquisition soldier, eyeing the wound on the soldier’s side. She’d treated it yesterday, and told him to have an apostate help finish healing the gash. The current apostate in question stood with his arms crossed, watching the scene.

            “Let me make it simple for you,” Addison said flatly. “I’ve already given you a poultice for that wound, and you’re not getting any more until I can gather the supplies. Your cut looks infected. So you can either let your guts rot, or have this scary mage with his hair in a pretty little bun heal you. Your choice.”

            The soldier’s eyes widened in surprise as Giselle sighed quietly.

            “Mother Giselle?” The Dalish elf—the Herald—was behind Addison, amusement quirking her lips as Addison turned to face her.

            “I am,” the chantry mother stood elegantly, clasping her hands before her. “And you must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

            “Not through any choice of mine,” the elf answered breezily. She shifted her gaze to meet Addison’s cold stare.

            “Good to know.” Addison muttered. At least the Herald wasn’t _self_ glorifying. Or so she claimed.

            Lina watched the elf with overlarge eyes, and Addison sighed to herself at the already apparent hope in the girl’s face.

            The Herald seemed to take in Addison’s expression, asking, “Were you expecting a human?”

            Addison pursed her lips. “No. I was expecting someone with a decent army.”

            The Herald blinked at Addison for only a moment before laughing, the sound surprisingly delicate. “Fair enough.”

            “I’ll leave you two to talk.” Addison nodded to Giselle. _It’s probably about bloody chantry politics,_ Addison thought. _Maker’s Blood, it’s bad if a Dalish elf wants to be involved with the chantry, now._ “Come on, Lina. We have work to do.”

            Addison turned on her heel, still clutching the box to her chest, and strode away from the Herald.

            “Did you see her?” Lina gasped, her short legs having to work at a much faster rate to keep up with Addison.

            Addison resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and settled on the patient response, “Yes, Lina. I did.”

            “She has all those pretty markings on her face! And her hand—it glows a little green.” Lina babbled, obviously entranced with her new hero.

            “Probably how she was able to interact with the breach,” Addison answered, brushing past more Inquisition soldiers, her cabin now in sight.

            “Addie, someone’s with Rhys!”

            Lina’s words made Addison’s head snap where the girl pointed. It was that bald elf that came to the Crossroads with the Herald, kneeling next to Rhys as the toddler clearly cowered in fear.

            “Hey!” Addison shouted, taking off at a run. “Get away from him!”

            The elf stood as Addison dropped the precious box on the ground, scooping Rhys

up in her arms as he buried his face in her shoulder.

            Rhys’s whole frame was shaking, and Addison smoothed his hair down, her own heart beating too fast in her chest.

            The elf inclined his head. “My apologies. I believed the boy was injured. I realized belatedly that I must have been mistaken.”

            “He’s deaf, not mortally wounded,” Addison snapped, though she began to calm with Rhys’s weight in her arms. Lina, who hated when anyone yelled, hunched her shoulders.

            Addison breathed deeply, and tried to soften her voice as she explained to the elf, “He’s terrified of strangers. With all of the Inquisition troops and refugees, it’s been a lot for him to take in.” _And Rose was supposed to be watching him, irresponsible twit of a woman._

            “I see.” The elf looked at her box of plants, seemingly unbothered by her previous scolding. After all, Rhys’s behavior would be seen as strange, maybe even sick, to someone who didn’t realize the little elf child had no hearing. Addison couldn’t find it in herself to continue scowling. “And are you the one who has been making healing potions?”

            “I’ve been trying to. I can’t exactly keep up with the Inquisition soldiers getting hundreds of holes poked in them every day.” Addison replied bluntly.

            The elf put out an open palm, which Addison read as an invitation. “I might be of assistance, if it is healing drafts you need to make.”

            “I don’t need—” Addison cut herself off with a sigh as the little elven boy squirmed in her arms and she moved him to her other hip. She didn’t _want_ help, but she would be an idiot not to take it. “Are you trained as a healer?”

            “Not exactly. But I do have some knowledge of the healing arts. I could help enhance the potency of any healing drafts you make, which could be beneficial if you’ve had to thin your supplies to make a higher quantity.” The elf replied politely—eloquently, even.

            She _had_ done that out of desperation. Too many people were getting stabbed, jolted with magic, or catching sick, and she’d been short on supplies.

            Addison wrinkled her nose for a moment, moving her thoughts to the boy in her arms, the girl at her side, and the people lying on cots. “Y-yes. Thank you. I apologize for taking your time.”

            The elf just smiled at her, and leaned down to pick up the box.

            “I can get that,” Addison said without thinking, bending at the knee and attempting to grab the side of the box with one hand while holding Rhys up with the other.

            It lifted half off the ground before the elf raised an eyebrow. “I would offer to take the child, but seeing as how he reacted to me—”

            “Right. Yes.” Addison’s cheeks flushed, suddenly six years old and insisting on cooking dinner only to burn everything terribly. “Could you… could you please—”

            The elf easily grabbed the box and stood, and Addison had to adjust Rhys in her arms again, the toddler now playing with her hair. “Where to?”

            Addison gestured with her free hand to the little cabin at the edge of the mass of refugees. “Just over there. Thank you.”

            Blush fading from her face, Addison made sure Lina was still with them as they walked toward the cabin. “You’re with the Inquisition? With the Herald?”

            The elf seemed to appraise her. “I have been working with the Inquisition and the Herald regarding the breach, yes.”

            _So not actually part of the Inquisition, then._

Lina scurried ahead to open the door to the cabin, and Addison followed behind. “Ah. So, if I have complaints about the Inquisition, I shouldn’t direct them all at you.”

            The elf chuckled. “I suppose you could, if you so wished. But unless it is advice on the breach, I doubt any complaints will be well received from me.”

            Addison nodded as she gently put Rhys on the mattress, which lay directly on the floor. “This was the village healer’s cabin until he was shot down by a Templar archer last week. Poor sod was gathering plants too far out. But I worked with him here often enough to know what he kept. Though we’ve gone through all of it now. Even the rare stuff.”

            “So you were the apothecary in training?” The elf questioned, setting the box down gently on a table as Lina watched him with her ever-massive eyes.

            “Not exactly,” Addison kept one eye on Rhys as she pulled down the embrium she left drying. “Embrium is harder to get around here. And I would kill for some deep mushrooms as well to help speed up the healing process.”

            “I could look into getting some sent down from Haven, if we have the supplies.”

            “Really? That would be incredibly helpful. In fact, if you can get whatever high and mighty powers running the Inquisition to listen, tell them to send less soldiers and more deep mushrooms. Hell, I’ll send back all of the soldiers for a wagon of deep mushrooms,” Addison mumbled, mostly to herself. “I’d even take spider webs at this point—we’ve run out of bandages.”

            The elf chuckled as he unpacked the box as Addison began grinding the embrium with her pestle. “You have no love for the Inquisition,” the elf stated lightly.

            Addison dropped the pestle to pick up Rhys again; he had begun crawling through the cabin and was about to put a stray pebble in his mouth. Lina had already busied herself grabbing vials and wiping them out. The girl was useful, and Addison made a mental note to get her hands one some sweets later for her.

            Now grinding the flowers one-handed, Addison answered, “I wouldn’t have cared if it weren’t for all the soldiers showing up and sucking away resources.”

            The elf frowned slightly. “They have also served as protectors, have they not?”

            Addison bounced Rhys as she finished off a flower and poured the powder into a bowl Lina handed her. “They have. But it would be wiser for us to move to a better position. I suggested traveling to Redcliffe, but the response I received was ‘the roads are too dangerous’.”

            “That is true,” the elf pointed out, as his hands glowed over the plants.

            Addison eyed him wearily, but could actually smell the elfroot more strongly as he did so. She returned her thoughts to his words. “But it’s dangerous here. We’ve lost too many people. Rhys’s father, for example. The village healer, and the village leader. Many refugees.”

            “And Liam,” Lina said in a small voice as she finished placing a vial on the table.

            Addison ground her teeth together and ignored that name. “At any rate, traveling with everyone in one big caravan would attract attention, but we’re sitting targets here as well.”

            “So why did you not leave for Redcliffe yourself?” The elf questioned.

            Addison pulled Rhys closer to her, and watched Lina blow into another vial and cough as residue rose out like dust. “I couldn’t go alone. Not when the others were going to stay behind. Otherwise, I would’ve just gone back to Denerim.”

            The elf passed Addison the spelled herbs, and she continued to grind them into paste.

            “I realize I never introduced myself to you, apothecary.” The elf said as he tracked Addison’s movements with his eyes. “I am Solas.”

            “Addison.”

            Lina, now done with setting out the vials, tugged on Addison’s shirt. “Can I ask him if he knows the Herald?”

            Her whisper, from Addison’s waist, was obviously heard by the elf Solas.

            Addison tried not to smile and failed. “Why don’t you ask him yourself, Lina?”

            The girl shied away for a moment as Addison set Rhys down again on the mattress. This time, the elven boy stayed there, his eyes drooping as he flopped down with his thumb in his mouth.

            Addison rolled her shoulder back, arm already sore, as she continued to mix together poultices. The spell Solas used definitely made each leaf more potent, and she was able to stretch out the supplies even more, filling every available vial as Lina barraged Solas with questions.

            “I know she’s a mage, but what kind of mage _is_ she?” Lina pressed.

            “She has still not come fully into her powers. But she calls charge from the air—like lightning. It is her strongest field,” Solas explained patiently.

            Addison passed a vial to Solas over Lina’s head. “I think this should do. It’ll at least last us to the end of the week. Unless there’s another raid or more refugees.”

            Solas raised the potion, putting it under his nose. He looked back at Addison with light dancing in his eyes. “You are quite talented.”

            Addison snorted. “You might as well compliment yourself. It’s only thanks to you that I was able to make enough drafts that were as potent as this one. So… thanks.”

            “You are most welcome,” Solas replied, setting the vial down. “But you do have a gift. It takes a certain kind of person to think of spider webs and deep mushrooms in healing drafts during times of desperation. Have you thought of traveling to Haven?”

            The question caught Addison off-guard, and her brow furrowed. “No. Why?”

            “I believe the Herald—and the Inquisition leaders—would have an interest in your skills.”

            Addison’s frown deepened. “Well I don’t have an interest in the Inquisition. I mean to help people, not throw force around for chantry political bullshit. Lina, pretend you didn’t hear me say that word.”

            “Mama says it all the time,” Lina replied immediately.

            “So long as you don’t start repeating it,” Addison began pressing little squares of leather over the vials and tying them off with string as a form of a lid, since corking the things became too much trouble.

            “I would not have joined the Inquisition’s forces if I believed they would not help Thedas,” Solas said evenly, not even appearing offended.

            “Hm.” Addison glanced at Rhys’s sleeping form. “How well is Haven protected?”

            “It is no fortress, but it is safer than the Crossroads.”

            Addison turned her eyes to Lina. “If… if I were to help the Inquisition, to serve as their apothecary, would it be possible for me to take others to Haven with me?”

            “The Herald would not turn away people seeking refuge in Haven. If it is safety on the roads that is a problem, you could speak with the Lady Seeker who accompanied the Herald here.” Solas answered.

            Addison pressed her lips together into a thin line. She’d already travelled across Ferelden once this year, she could do it again. Haven was not as far as Denerim—not by a long shot.

            “So, I could potentially get safe passage for Rhys, Lina, and her mother?” Addison asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

            “It is something to be decided with the Herald and the Seeker, but I believe they would be amenable to the idea.” Solas said.

            “Mama’s getting scareder. I think she won’t yell if you say you want to leave now,” Lina whispered, though again, her whisper was hardly quiet.

            Addison sighed before saying grimly, “Then please let me speak with them.”

            It seemed like Addison might be going to Haven.

            _And joining the Inquisition. If the Maker’s actually out there, he’s got quite the sense of humor._


	2. First Impressions

            The wagon was covered, but it did little to keep out the chill that accompanied the journey to the Frostbacks.

            Addison was sick of the cold. Rhys was bundled in her cloak on her lap, leaning against her chest. The tips of his pointed ears were red from the frigid temperature, and Addison rested her chin lightly on top of his curly hair, rubbing her hands over his arms in an attempt to warm him up.

            Rose’s head lolled from where she sat on the other side of the wagon, Lina tucked into her side. Mother Giselle sat with her head bowed, still the epitome of dignified grace through their sluggish and freezing trip to Haven.

            The Inquisition soldiers traveling with them had informed Addison last night that they expected to arrive at Haven today. Rose had been thrilled, but Addison was still wary. They had avoided any bandit attacks thus far, and it seemed so unlikely that they would have managed an entire trip without trouble. Gerta, the Inquisition scout driving the wagon, had even mentioned on multiple accounts that the Maker must be watching over them.

            Mother Giselle had agreed with a soft smile and accredited it to the Maker as well, but Addison had merely narrowed her eyes and decided not to thank anyone until they were all safely in Haven.

            _If there **is** anywhere safe in Ferelden now. _Addison adjusted Rhys, pulling him onto her other leg when he woke at a bump in the path.

            The lighting was dim inside the wagon, the flaps in the back closed, the only brightness streaming through holes in the skins above them.

            Rhys squirmed and Addison began humming quietly, taking the little boy’s hand in her own and placing it lightly against her throat.

            It was only a few nights ago when Lina had asked Addison to sing her to sleep that Addison had begun doing this. Rhys could still _listen_ to a song, even if in a strange way. Rhys’s face had brightened, fascinated by the feeling of her voice, if only for the way her skin vibrated under his fingertips.

            Rhys quieted now, settling back against Addison’s chest.

            Rose’s mouth dropped open as she snored, and Addison had to stop humming to stifle a laugh at the sounds that could easily be coming out of a bear.

            The wagon hit another bump, and Rose jerked awake, jaw snapping shut.

            Rose rubbed her eyes. “Are we close yet?” Her voice had a whining tremor that made Addison sigh quietly from across the wagon. Lina seemed to be handling the whole journey better than her own mother.

            “Don’t know.” Addison answered shortly.

            Rose sniffed and scooted across the wagon floor toward the front, where the skins separated them from Gerta and Samuel on the other side. “How long until we reach Haven?” Rose shouted, much louder than necessary.

            “Not long at all, Miss Rose,” Gerta’s voice answered.

            Lina immediately straightened. “We’re really almost there?”

            Addison felt her heart thump obnoxiously in her chest. _Calm down. They can’t exactly send us all back to the Crossroads now if my skills aren’t up to their standards._

It had been a worry to cross her mind many times now. What if they made the journey only to be turned away of the Inquisition decided they didn’t need Addison’s skills? Or if her skills were simply unimpressive to them?

            She put her arms around Rhys, taking a deep breath as Lina whispered, “What if they don’t let us in?”

            Rose leaned over to smooth Lina’s hair. “Addie’s going to be sure we have somewhere to stay.”

            Addison tried to look as if she were in agreement with Rose’s words, but she tucked her fingers into her palms and took a breath that shook despite her internal insistence that she was perfectly calm.

            “They won’t turn you away, child,” Mother Giselle said softly. “You will be safe in Haven.” The chantry woman spoke calmly, and Addison felt herself relax despite the annoyance at a potentially false reassurance.

            “We have Seeker Cassandra’s word,” Addison told Lina. She added conspiratorially, “If that’s not good for something, then I’ll be marching up to the Inquisition leaders with my angry face on.”

            Lina’s eyes widened. “Your angry face, Addie? They’ll be terrified!”

            Addison smiled in spite of herself. “Then shouldn’t they let us stay in Haven without a problem?”

            Lina nodded vigorously. “I’d feel very bad for them if you were angry. Mama said once that you could wither grass with just one look.”

            “Rose!” Addison glared.

            “What? It’s true,” Rose answered without a hint of guilt.

            “Is withering the same as dying, Mama?” Lina questioned as the wagon hit another bump.

            Before Rose could respond, the wagon lurched to a stop. Addison’s eyes flew to the back entrance. _Bandit trap?_

She pulled Rhys further into her, her right hand going to the knife at her belt that she frankly had no idea how to use if not for cutting herbs.

            “Haven, my friends,” Gerta called from the front of the wagon. “We’ve arrived.”

            Lina gasped, and Rose was the first to move, practically lunging to the flaps of the wagon skin and hopping into the cold.

            Addison blew air out lips, glancing at Mother Giselle. “We made it,” Addison muttered as Lina clambered out of the wagon. “Is it wrong that I’m actually surprised?”

            Mother Giselle gave a low chuckle. “You do not have enough faith.”

            _Or maybe too much practicality,_ Addison thought as she waited for Mother Giselle to exit the wagon as well.

            Addison shifted Rhys so she could carry him, and he blinked in confusion. Addison pointed to the wagon flap as she stood, stooped over because of her height, and slung her pack over her shoulder. She then pushed the skins open to reveal snow and patches of trees, stepping indelicately down from the wagon.

            There were tents to her right, a flurry of activity as people practiced with swords and shields and carried loads of wood or bundles of what must be supplies.

            Addison took a few steps around the back of the wagon and turned.

            She truly saw it then, the stone wall, reinforced with huge wooden posts, and steps up to massive doors that stood open, some sort of guard tower above them.

            “The hole in the sky,” Lina breathed from Addison’s side.

            Addison tilted her head up, and it was impossible to miss the sickly green color of the breach. The thing that had torn the world apart just as much as the Templar Order or the mages.

            Snowflakes began catching in Addison’s eyelashes, and she wrinkled her nose as Rhys sneezed into her shoulder, distracting her from thoughts regarding the end of the world.

            Addison tried to move her cloak over Rhys, but he pushed it away, his expression one of complete wonder as his eyes roamed over Haven. He twisted in her arms to look around better. When a snowflake landed on his nose, he grinned widely.

            He kicked his feet, indicating he wanted to be let down, and Addison shook her head. She held up one finger before realizing it seemed like she was upset with him. Rhys’s face fell into a look of confusion, and she quickly dropped her hand.

            Addison chastised herself internally for not paying attention in the week she was at the Crossroads again before all hell broke loose and Rhys’s father was killed. Meren had used his hands to sign with Rhys, and she hadn’t paid enough attention to it. With Rhys’s mother dead only a day after Rhys was born, the little boy had no family left, and no one who could easily communicate with him.

            “Miss Addison?”

            Addison looked abruptly over to Gerta, where the woman stood with another Inquisition soldier. “I’m to take Mother Giselle to the chantry, but Julian here can show you and the others to Adan.”

            Addison nodded. “Thank you.”

            Gerta saluted, though she offered a genuine smile. “I’ll see you around. Take care of yourselves.”

            “Same to you,” Addison told her.

            Mother Giselle touched Addison’s shoulder lightly as she passed, and Addison found she didn’t mind the contact.

            “We will find each other tonight, child.” Mother Giselle intoned before following Gerta.

            _Child,_ Addison barely stopped herself from harrumphing.

            “Uh, you’re the apothecary the Lady Seeker and the Herald hired on?” The Inquisition soldier, Julian, asked Rose. Rose practically preened at the comment.

            Addison frowned. “I am, actually.”

            “Oh, of course. My apologies,” Julian said quickly, stammering slightly. He looked far too young to be in Inquisition armor.

            “No apology needed,” Addison answered flatly as she looked back to the walls of Haven.

            “I must have the look of an apothecary,” Rose said sweetly.

            Addison snorted.

            “I suppose I’ll, uh, show you to Adan now.” Julian spoke nervously. “Please follow me.”

            Lina reached for Rose’s cloak, and Addison ran a hand reassuringly through Rhys’s curls as they fell in step behind the soldier.

            Haven was not where Addison pictured herself when she left Denerim earlier in the year after she received Rose’s letter. In fact, Addison wasn’t entirely sure now that she wasn’t dreaming the snow under her boots or the carving above her head as she passed through the doors to Haven.

            Rhys sneezed again, this time into Addison’s bare neck.

            Addison winced before patting Rhys on the pack as he sniffled.

            If it was all a dream, it was far too realistic.

 

* * *

 

            “There’s no reason we should care what this Lord Kildarn wants. I refuse to send forces to harass the refugees into leaving,” Cullen snapped, his voice ringing through the war room.

            Leliana’s cool expression remained unchanged. “I was not suggesting sending your troops, Commander. I can have my spies move discretely and earn a favor from Kildarn.”

            Cullen clenched his jaw tightly, the pounding in his head behind his eyes now. “A favor? You want to displace the Ferelden refugees again to earn the favor of a selfish nobleman?”

            “We need all the influence we can get.” Leliana answered in clipped tones.

            “Or we can simply refuse to be involved. With grace, that is,” Josephine put in.

            Cullen opened his mouth to speak, but Josephine continued quickly, “Maybe we should wait until the Herald returns. If she is to be the face of the Inquisition, it is only right that she should have a say in this.”

            Leliana smirked. “You’re ready to let her make decisions, Josie?”

            Josephine smoothed her skirts. “I don’t see us reaching an agreement as we are. Mistress Lavellan has proved to be a levelheaded woman thus far. I would want to hear her input before we send a response to Lord Kildarn.”

            Cullen grimaced. It was stalling, and he had a feeling Leliana might ignore Josephine and send out her spy network regardless.

            There was a knock at the door to the war room. “Mother Giselle wishes to speak to you, Lady Josephine.”

            Josephine rolled her shoulders back delicately and picked up the board she used for her notes. “Of course.” She strode out of the war room, leaving the door open behind her as she greeted the chantry mother.

            Leliana observed Cullen from across the table, her arms crossed. “If Mother Giselle is here, the new apothecary will have arrived as well,” she said evenly.

            Cullen nodded, knowing he must still look annoyed from their disagreement. He was aware he did not have Josephine’s poise or Leliana’s ability to mask her feelings. “Do you plan on speaking with her?”

            Leliana just observed Cullen with an unnervingly expressionless face. “I thought it would be best if you greeted her. At the very least, she would work for your troops. I already have Adan researching… things I may need.”

            Cullen snorted darkly at that. _Poisons. Why am I not surprised?_ “I see. I’ll discuss the nature of what the Inquisition needs as of now. We have several recruits who are sick with fever, and more coming back from the Hinterlands who were injured in skirmishes.”

            “As you will, Cullen.” Leliana unfolded her arms.

            Cullen took that as his sign to leave, walking out of the war room with a frown. It was snowing as he made it out of the chantry, the cold air stinging his chapped lips.

            He knew he was feverish again. It had been a bad few days, and even without the headaches, he found his hands had a tremor sometimes. He would need to talk with Cassandra when she returned, and make plans should anything… happen.

            Recruits saluted as Cullen passed, and Cullen was only partially aware that he was scowling. It wasn’t until he opened the door to the apothecary cabin that Cullen felt his face change.

            He was looking into the brown eyes of a doe, at a heart-shaped face he had never seen before. No, he would’ve recognized this woman had he seen her even once in Haven.

            She smiled at him, tilting her head as long, dark hair cascading down her shoulders.

            “A-are you the newly recruited apothecary?” Cullen asked when he realized he’d been staring. _Maker’s Breath, you’d think I was sixteen again._

            “That would be me,” a flat voice came from the back of the room.

            Cullen nearly startled at that. The owner of the voice—the new apothecary—was a young woman who stood toward the back of the cabin with Adan, wearing an expression Cullen could only think to describe as stern.

            “Addison Mare,” she said, her gaze somehow sharp. “These are the people Seeker Cassandra told me would be safe in Haven, as per our terms.”

            Cullen realized she had a small boy in her arms, and the beautiful woman in front of him had a girl maybe six years of age hiding behind her skirts. “Yes, I believe there’s been a cabin prepared for you all.”

            The apothecary—Addison—raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

            “Don’t be ungrateful, Addie,” the woman standing in front of Cullen said quickly. Her voice was delicate, matching her petite frame.

            “Seeker Pentaghast sent word ahead, so we were ready for your arrival. I came to discuss the needs of the Inquisition with you,” Cullen assured them.

            “Good. Apothecary Adan was just informing me on your stocks.” Addison shifted the little boy in her arms.

            Adan waved his hand in the air. “Just call me Adan,” he said tersely. “I certainly won’t be calling you Apothecary Addison.”

            “That’s fair. Too much of a mouthful.” Addison looked to Cullen. “You’re in charge of the Inquisition?”

            The words surprised him, and Cullen only took a brief moment before he answered, “Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition forces. There are many others in charge, but I thought it would be best if I were the one to introduce you to the nature of the situation you’ll be working with.”

            “But you command the soldiers?” The doe-eyed woman in front of him asked.

            Cullen shifted his weight from one foot to another, not understanding the look she was giving him. “Such as they are. We’re rebuilding after we lost many soldiers in the initial weeks after the breach appeared.”

            “Sounds like there’ll be lots of work to do, then.” Addison put in brusquely. “Adan mentioned you have several sick, currently.”

            Cullen nodded. “Would you like to see them?”

            “Yes. Please.” Addison glanced at the other woman, passing the little boy off to her as she stepped forward.

            Addison was taller than Cullen expected, nearly his height. “I’ll send for someone to show you to your cabin,” Cullen said to the dark-haired woman, and to the little girl peering up at him.

            The little boy was reaching for Addison from the arms of the other woman, his face contorted.

            Cullen watched as Addison’s expression softened. She pointed to herself, then used two fingers to mime walking, pointing outside, then mimed walking in again.

            The boy nodded, seeming to understand her.

            When Addison looked back at Cullen, her face had returned to a stone carving. “Sorry, Commander. Where to?”

            Cullen decided not to ask about the wordless exchange, instead leading her out of the cabin. His skull felt like it was moments away from bursting, the pain behind his eyes almost dizzying.

            “When did they fall ill?”

            “What?” Cullen barked the response without meaning to.

            They were walking to a cabin on the edge of Haven’s walls where the sick had been quarantined to avoid spreading whatever disease they may have caught.

            “The Inquisition soldiers?” Addison frowned at him.

            “A week ago, was the first. We realized it was more than a common chill, and three others fell sick in the following days.” Cullen explained quickly, making an effort to keep his voice level.

            “I see,” the woman pursed her lips together, and turning her head forward. Her hair hid her face now with thick gold strands that fell unevenly below her chin.

            Cullen rubbed a hand over his face. “We have supplies stored in the bottom of the chantry, and Adan keeps some in the cabin with him. We also have several injured soldiers coming back from the Hinterlands that should be arriving in two days.”

            Addison looked at him critically. “From the Crossroads?”

            “Some,” Cullen said, glad to have something to focus on that could hopefully allow him to forget the pressure building behind his eyes. “One was in an envoy that was caught on their way to the Crossroads. They were ambushed and his condition is critical.”

            The woman was keeping pace with him easily, long strides in the chill of the Frostbacks. “Have you considered _not_ sending so many soldiers to the Crossroads?”

            Cullen’s eyebrows pulled together at her tone. “The Crossroads are under the Inquisition’s protection, and there are still attacks by bandits, apostates, and rogue Templars.”

            “If the Inquisition claims to protect to the Crossroads, I’d think they were more concerned with claiming the area than helping the people. The hunters were barely able to supply enough food for the refugees before your men came marching in with their banners.” Addison spoke quickly, words clipped.

            Cullen stared at her incredulously, stopping in his tracks. “More concerned with claiming the area? The soldiers have been risking their safety in order to keep attackers at bay. The Inquisition sends supplies to the Crossroads—”

            “Enough for maybe half of the Inquisition soldiers there? Not to mention I heard that some of the supplies don’t even make it all the way because of bandit raids on the journey over.” The woman glared at him.

            Cullen glared back, not knowing where this attack was coming from. “The Inquisition is doing the best we can to protect civilians. We are at war—”

            “ _You’re_ at war.” Addison clarified coldly. “The Chantry is at war. Mages and Templars are at war. The people at the Crossroads are just trying to survive. They’ve all lost family to a conflict they’ve had no part in, no say in. The rogue Templars and mages kill each other and anyone they meet on sight. The chantry throws around their power to exploit the giant tear in the sky and the demons that come with it. Is the Inquisition any better than them?”

            She stepped forward, closer to Cullen, her refusal to back down or see reason clear.

            A muscle jumped in Cullen’s jaw. “Do you have a problem with the Inquisition?” Cullen snapped, his head pounding and his patience completely worn thin. The woman seemed incapable of being anything other than infuriating as she continued to glare at him with hardened eyes.

            “No, Commander, not _a_ problem. Many.”

            “If your opinion is so low, I would not encourage you to remain here.” Cullen seethed, barely able to contain his growing anger.

            Color rose in Addison’s pale cheeks. “Maybe I shouldn’t. But my loyalty lies with the Inquisition as long as the people I love remain safe in Haven. My agreement with Seeker Cassandra involved no warm feelings for your politics. I will not speak of any more of the issues I have with the Inquisition while I serve as apothecary here.”

            Cullen’s headache had worsened tenfold in Addison’s presence. “I have neither the time nor the patience for arguments about this, so if you are as skilled as Cassandra claimed, I will look past your malcontent.”

            “Good to know I can have opinions as long as I don’t voice them.” Addison answered, her face still flushed with anger. “I understand your position, Commander.”

            Cullen felt a furious growl rising in his throat and tamped down on it. She truly did not understand anything. He ground his teeth together. “Then we have an agreement.”

            “Yes, we do.” She replied tightly, looking at him with something akin to fire.

            _Maker preserve me, I think my head might truly explode._


	3. More Urgent Matters

            Cullen could not say he was particularly excited to see Cassandra walking toward him in the crisp afternoon air, breeze ruffling the furs of his coat. The look on her face clearly read that she had a mission.

            His eyes darted from Cassandra to the recruits. “Dunn, adjust your grip on the hilt or you’ll have the sword knocked from your hand,” Cullen ordered as Cassandra stopped by his side.

            The Seeker observed the recruits critically. “They’ve improved,” she stated.

            Cullen nodded, more to himself than to Cassandra. “Some should be ready for patrol units that venture beyond Haven’s outskirts in a week.”

            “Good.” Cassandra shifted so she could look at Cullen, sizing him up. “You look better this morning.”

            Cullen caught the implied _“You looked terrible last night”._ Cassandra had arrived with the Herald, Solas, and Varric long after dark. Cullen had been roused from sleep by one of Leliana’s scouts—and roused from another nightmare.

            He had dragged himself to the War Room, and though Cassandra hadn’t said anything in the presence of the others, he knew he would be hearing about it later.

            “Has your health been worsening?”

            “We can discuss it later,” Cullen said quietly as Cassandra broached her intended topic.

            “Oh. Yes. Of course,” Cassandra answered, seeming to understand. She focused on the recruits again, and the two warriors fell into a comfortable silence. The quiet was punctuated by the sounds of clashing swords and shields from the recruits, and the occasional reprimand from Cullen or chastisement from Cassandra.

            “I forgot to ask,” Cassandra began after Cullen finished barking at a recruit for not moving his feet. “How is the apothecary we sent ahead with Mother Giselle?”

            Cullen frowned without trying to, a natural reaction to the mention of the young woman. He had seen her many times in the week since her arrival, but she had only given him a terse nod as she walked by, and Cullen didn’t feel the need to ask her how she was settling in. “I heard from Mother Giselle that the soldiers who took ill are on the mend. Adan says she is extremely skilled.” Cullen reported the honest praise with a grimace.

            “Good. She seemed more than competent at the Crossroads.”

            “She’s expressed a discontent with the Inquisition.” Cullen informed Cassandra, his brow furrowed.

            “Discontent?”

            Cullen sighed, impatient with his own inability to find the right words. He could easily describe a battle, troop formations, and fighting tactics, but he was terrible with explaining a personal exchange. “She… believes that the Inquisition is no better than the chantry, trying to exploit the breach for our own personal gain.” Cullen shook his head. “She’s ignorant and brash. She has no sense for the Inquisition and no idea of what the soldiers have sacrificed. She makes light of the war as if it were something we chose for ourselves.”

            Cassandra made a noise of disapproval in the back of her throat. “Do you believe she has ulterior motives in being here? Paid off by the chantry opposition?”

            “What?” Cullen blinked for a moment. “Ah, no. At least I don’t think so.” The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “If she was, I have a feeling she would need to voice her opinion about chantry superiority. She does not seem to be quiet in her dispositions.”

            “Hmph.” Cassandra seemed to mull it over for a moment. “Then we’ll keep an eye on her. If she keeps doing adequately and isn’t fueling Chancellor Roderick’s childish rants, I see no problem.”

            “Agreed,” Cullen said, Dunn’s flailing catching his eye. “Dunn, sword _up_!”

 

* * *

 

            Solas finished the book he was reading, and he set the book down gently on the floor beside the chair he was gracefully perched on. He was careful not to disturb Rhys, who was sleeping with his face pressed into Solas’s vest.

            Addison smiled at the movement as she selected a new leaf of elfroot to grind. “If you accidentally wake him, he’ll fall back asleep just as quickly.”

            “Dreams are precious things. I would hate to pull him from them,” Solas answered lightly.

            Addison stifled a laugh. _Rhys has him around his little finger so quickly._

Solas came to the apothecary cabin earlier in the morning to stock up for his journey with the Herald to Val Royeaux the following day. Addison found that he was fascinating to speak to, if a little odd. His intellect and eloquence made her wonder that if her brother had reached Solas’s age—

            _Not the time to think about that._ Addison shook thoughts of her brother away. At the very least, anyone who was kind to Rhys almost immediately had Addison’s approval.

            Addison pushed hair out of her face with the back of her hand. She’d attempted to tie it back, but the short strands refused to stay put. She’d cut it for practicality’s sake when all hell broke lose at the Crossroads, but she was beginning to miss being able to braid all the loose pieces for convenience’s sake.

            She tucked a strand behind her ear as she asked, “Are you really headed for Val Royeaux so soon? You only returned last night.”

            “Time is critical. Chantry politics are volatile.” Solas explained.

            “When are they not?” Addison rolled her eyes. “Whoever caused the explosion at the conclave wasn’t really out to kill the Divine, or disrupt the potential peace. But of course the chantry assumes it’s some internal assassination plot.”

            Solas tilted his head, expression unreadable as Addison grabbed another leaf. “What makes you think this?”

            Addison paused, releasing the pestle and rolling her wrists, the joints cracking. “It’s not logical. The consequences were massive—the breach, the rifts appearing, the outpour of demons. If someone wanted to kill the Divine, there were much easier ways. Ripping the sky apart seems beyond drastic.” Addison resumed crushing the elfroot leaf. “No, I think that whoever caused the explosion wanted more than just to cause problems for the chantry. It would’ve been someone who wanted to change Thedas and had a big enough ego to think they could control the breach—or whatever caused it in the first place.”

            Solas didn’t respond, and Addison glanced up at him after a few moments. His face was smooth, and he murmured, “An interesting theory.”

            Addison shrugged, wondering if he thought her ridiculous. “Can you think of a reason why someone would be so discontent with the Divine that they would tear open the sky and wreak havoc on Thedas to kill her? The more I think about it—and trust me, that obnoxious Chancellor man has made me think about it a lot—the more it seems implausible that someone would do this for chantry politics.”

            “A miscalculation, perhaps?” Solas asks softly.

            “Maybe. But who miscalculates something this huge? I guess, again, it would have to be someone overconfident in their own abilities.” Addison finished grinding the elfroot and began distributing the powder into different vials. “At any rate, we all have to deal with the consequences now, whether we like it or not, while the Inquisition bickers with the Chantry for control.”

            “Do you think that if the Inquisition stepped down, the Chantry would do what is necessary to protect the people and deal with the breach?” Solas asked pointedly.

            Addison wrinkled her nose. It was a question that they both knew had an obvious answer. “I suppose not,” she replied. “I’ll just be here making healing drafts until the world returns to normal or the breach kills us all,” she added under her breath.

            “Has there been much need for the drafts recently?” Solas inquired as Rhys shifted in his sleep, wriggling in Solas’s lap.

            Addison’s expression soured instantly. “Yes. But not only for soldiers injured out on patrols. I had four recruits just yesterday come to me asking if they could have something for the pain after their drills that the Commander had them doing. One of them had a welt the size of my fist on her arm from a sparring match.”

            She grabbed a bucket of water from where it sat on the muddy floorboards and set it on the table. “How is the Commander running these trainings?” Addison griped. “It’s incredibly stupid.”

            Solas listened to her rant patiently. “I do not understand the Commander’s methods either, but they have successfully produced skillful guards from recruits who have never held a sword.”

            Addison huffed shortly, using a spoon to fill vials with water, the elfroot powder swirling, turning the liquid a swampy green. “I have no doubt the man is well versed in violence.”

            “Your dislike of Commander Cullen seems to go beyond his leadership of the Inquisition,” Solas observed with something akin to curiosity.

            Addison pursed her lips as she finished dividing the water. She sighed, meeting Solas’s eyes questioningly. “Am I being unfair?”

            Solas gave the even response, “Perhaps.”

            Her fingers worked nimbly to begin capping the vials. “Maybe the Commander and I just need a heart-to-heart, and we’ll become the best of friends. We could skip around Haven singing songs, and he could even let me braid flowers into his hair.” Addison suggested without inflection.

            “That would be quite a sight,” Solas was smiling when Addison finished preparing the draughts. “Though I am not sure Commander Cullen would be amenable to the idea.”

            “Well I suppose our friendship is doomed,” Addison answered with a smirk. She glanced at the note Adan stuck to the wall. “Time to start on the next batch.”

            Solas chuckled lightly as Rhys woke, his nose twitching. “I must finish preparing for our departure tomorrow morning. Shall I take Rhys to you friend in the Singing Maiden?”

            It’s where Rose was, and where she spent most of her time as she worked with Flissa. Rose had easily ingratiated herself with the people of Haven, unlike Addison, who kept to herself unless she was forced to interact with someone. Addison spoke to Adan during the day, anyone who came for a draft or balm, and then Lina and Rose in the evening. In fact, her conversation with Solas today might’ve been the most she used her voice all week.

            Addison brushed her hands off on her skirts. The dark blue was streaked with dirt and she desperately needed to wash it. “I can take him.”

            Solas arched an eyebrow. “It is of no trouble to me.” Somehow he almost seemed patronizing. “You have many duties to attend to.”

            Addison blinked at him. “I—” She frowned as Solas stood and Rhys squirmed slightly in the elf’s arms. “I can—”

            “Yes?”

            Addison flushed in annoyance, as she had no desire herself to go into the crowded tavern to look for Rose. “Um. Thank you.”

            Solas nodded, and Addison grumbled to herself as Solas picked up the bag of healing drafts Addison had made for him earlier. “Good luck in your endeavors.”

            “Good luck convincing the Chantry to see reason in Val Royeaux,” Addison countered.

            “We might agree that it’s an impossible task,” Solas smiled thinly before leaving, Rhys happily clutching his little hands around Solas’s neck.

            Addison pushed her hair out of her eyes again as she read Adan’s list a second time over. Acidic coating was written, no doubt for Inquisition archers. Addison made a face at the parchment.

            She had been thoroughly trained at court, and had quite a talent for making poisons. She didn’t, however, like the idea that the potions she created would be used for debilitation—or for death. It had been all the more incentive for her to leave court and return to the Crossroads when she had received Rose’s letter.

            Grudgingly, Addison began pulling out the necessary ingredients. Circumstances were dire here, and she would do whatever she was asked to do if it kept Rose, Lina, and Rhys safe behind the walls of Haven.

            The door to the cabin burst open, and Addison whirled around, nearly dropping a glass bottle she had in hand.

            “I’m really fine, Mack.”

            “You’re bleeding all over the place. How’s that fine?”

            The soldier who showed Addison to the apothecary on her first day—Julian—was leaning against another recruit’s side, blood staining the leather on the inner part of his right arm.

            “Sit him down,” Addison ordered sharply, pointing to the chair that Solas had occupied only a few minutes before.

            The recruit, Mack, helped Julian to the chair, setting the boy down while cringing at the wound though it was not his own.

            Addison squatted before Julian, gently pulling apart the leather armor to see how deep the gash was. When her view was still obstructed, she grabbed the knife from her belt.

            “Maker help me,” Julian squeaked.

            “I’m not cutting into your arm. Your sleeve is in the way,” Addison answered brusquely. She cut carefully, revealing a deep wound that was still bleeding.

            She rose, grabbing a healing draft that she had just made. She yanked it open and handed it to Julian, who put it to his lips with shaking fingers.

            Addison searched through the rows of vials on a shelf, finding the disinfectant and a clean cloth. She then returned her attention to Julian, lifting his arm carefully after dousing the cloth in disinfectant.

            “This is going to sting, alright?” She looked into the boy’s panicked eyes with what she hoped was reassurance. Her bedside manner had always been far from perfect.

            He bobbed his head up and down. “Alright. Okay.”

            “Take deep breaths,” Addison instructed calmly as she pressed the cloth against Julian’s arm and his face contorted. “How did this happen?” Addison questioned as she cleaned the wound, trying to distract the boy.

            “I m-messed up. The Commander told me to keep my sword up but I kept forgetting and—”

            “And I knocked his sword out of his hand and accidentally got him,” Mack interrupted worriedly.

            Addison felt herself pause in her motions. Her voice was flat as she asked, “This happened during training?”

            Mack cleared his throat. “Yes, Miss. We were running drills and we weren’t being careful—”

            “There are bandages behind you—can you please pass me one?” Addison looked at Mack sharply. _Weren’t being careful? How is it that recruits who obviously have no previous experience with fighting are attacking each other with sharpened blades?_

            The recruit quickly lunged for the stack of bandages and handed it to Addison. She began wrapping Julian’s arm tightly, focusing on the task at hand though her face was now grimly set.

            “You’re going to need stitches. And since my experience with that is limited to mending clothes and you’re not a holey blouse, you’ll need to go to Sister Maren in the chantry. When you walk inside, she’s the second door on the right.” Addison tied off the bandage. “I’ll give you something to pour over the cut before she stitches you up to numb the area. Is that alright?”

            “Y-yes.” Julian answered quickly. “Thank you.”

            “No need to thank me,” Addison replied, straightening and looking back in the cabinet for another row of vials she’d made a batch of a few days before. She selected one and handed it to Mack. “Take him carefully, and make sure this is applied for at least thirty seconds before Sister Maren starts stitching his arm.”

            “Yes, Miss.” Mack’s eyes were wide with fear. _Probably doesn’t want to be in trouble for accidentally taking Julian’s arm off._

            Addison took a deep breath as Mack helped Julian stand. “You’ll be fine. Come see me again tomorrow and I’ll take a look at it. And _don’t_ try to train with Commander Cullen for the next several days,” she added with a glare. _It’d be better not train with the man at all._

            “But… we’re not supposed to miss training,” Julian answered meekly, though he was leaning on Mack for support.

            “Oh, I’ll have a word with the Commander,” Addison said coldly. “Now go on.”

            The two recruits left, and Addison shook her head as the door closed behind them. She took a few moments to throw the now red stained cloth she’d used to clean Julian’s arm in a wooden basket, but her blood was beginning to boil.

            How could Commander Cullen be so irresponsible as to let his recruits hack at each other during training? _There’s already enough people getting themselves sliced open, for Andraste’s sake!_

Addison ground her teeth together as she snatched her cloak from where it was hanging by the door and swung it around herself, marching out of the cabin.

            Commander Cullen was definitely going to hear from her. His irresponsibility was absolutely unacceptable—wasn’t there already enough violence happening that he should look after the idiots who came to him for training?

            Addison was positively seething by the time she stomped out of the gates, finding Commander Cullen watching the recruits practice, one hand on the hilt of his blasted sword.

            “Commander?” Addison addressed him as she came to halt at his side.

            He turned to look at her with an annoyed expression. “What?”

            “A word—a few, actually. Are you aware that one of your recruits, Julian, just came to me with a cut on his arm so deep he’ll need stitches?”

            “Julian Dunn? Yes, I sent him to you.” The Commander answered, still appearing annoyed that she was speaking to him rather than the least bit abashed.

            “And it happened during training?”

            “Yes, it did.”

            “ _Training_?” Addison repeated, her temper flaring.

            She barely noticed that several recruits had become distracted from their bludgeoning each other with shields and were watching the exchange.

            “Yes, training,” Commander Cullen snapped. “When recruits aren’t paying attention during drills, they make mistakes and harm themselves. If there were no drills, it would happen on the field.”

            “Isn’t it your job as their commander to keep things like this from happening?” Addison spat. “There’s enough people getting hurt without your _training_ contributing to it. Julian’s not the only one to come see me for injuries this week. Andraste’s blood, what methods of this training do you use for so many injuries to occur?”

            Commander Cullen’s jaw was clenched, and Addison could tell he was holding himself still with great effort. “You would not understand.”

            “I wouldn’t?” Addison’s fists curled at the statement. “Maybe because it doesn’t make any sense to have your recruits bloodying themselves every day for your precious drills!”

            He opened his mouth to answer, but there was a distant shout of, “Commander!”

            Addison, Cullen, and their accumulated audience turned to see a scout riding toward them.

            The man dismounted hurriedly, running in the snow to where they were standing, clearly out of breath and alarmed.

            “There’s been an attack on a village an hour’s ride away. Knight-Captain Rylen and his unit did their best to defend the villagers, but there were casualties,” he panted as he tried to stand at attention.

            Addison stared, the news not to be unexpected but somehow still coming as a shock.

            “The nature of the attack?” Commander Cullen asked sharply as Addison’s blood turned cold.

            _Another village attacked. More casualties._ Addison felt herself shiver when she noticed the scout’s face had a streak of blood across his cheek that didn’t seem to be his own.

            “Bandits. At least ten of them plundered the village and set fire to it.”

            “The casualties?” Commander Cullen questioned.

            “At least four villagers dead, two of the Knight-Captain’s unit injured, and upwards of fifteen villagers injured as well.” The scout replied, finally regaining his breath while Addison began to lose hers to the tightening in her chest. Why was there always more death?

            “Call Thirrin’s unit together.” Commander Cullen looked at Addison. “What do we have available in our supplies?”

            “I’ll gather everything we can spare.” Addison told him quietly, her face grim set.

            “You’ll go with Thirrin’s unit?” It seemed to give him pause.

            “If there’s burn wounds and the like, I can help. I know how to make the best use of what we have.” Addison answered, her tone even. “I’ve dealt with the results of raids like these before.

            Commander Cullen nodded, all anger between them dissipated with the news of the village. “Meet back here once you have what you need. I’ll accompany you after I inform Cassandra and the others.”

            “I’ll be ready soon,” Addison half threw the words over her shoulder as she turned and ran back into Haven toward her cabin. If the destruction were similar to what she’d seen around the Crossroads, she would need _everything._


	4. It Never Gets Easier

            The smoky haze was making it hard to breathe, and Addison coughed once before uncorking a bottle with her teeth.

            “Addison, where’s the numbing agent? Sister Maren needs it.” The voice floated somewhere behind Addison.

            “Pink liquid in the clear vials. The bag to my left,” Addison answered flatly as she looked up at the young girl she was treating. “This salve is going to feel very cool at first, and your skin might hurt at the touch.”

            The girl nodded, large blue eyes red from tears. Her lower lip trembled as Addison tipped the salve over and onto her fingers.

            The village was nothing but ash. The still smoldering remains of homes had provided a black cloud in the sky above, and the smell of burning wood had seeped into Addison’s cloak.

            Addison spread the salve over the girl’s arm, the skin charred, raw, and bleeding. The girl choked—she couldn’t be more than eight years old, but she was obviously trying so hard not to make any noise. “It’s okay to cry,” Addison said quietly.

            The girl sniffed, shaking her head. “Can’t. Carson.”

            Addison glanced in the direction the young girl was staring. A boy was watching them with a set of blue eyes that matched those of the girl, both of his legs bound in bandages. Addison had treated him earlier in the day.

            _Earlier in the day—how long have we been here?_ Addison shook the useless thoughts and checked the girl’s arm. _Blisters open, can’t let them get infected._ “Are you being strong for him?” Addison asked softly as she grabbed the bandage sitting in her lap and began to wind it around the girl’s arm.

            “Have to be. Ma said I needed to be brave. Since she wouldn’t be here.” The girl winced as Addison tied the bandage. “The bad men burned us out of the house, and Ma told me then. Soon as we made it outside, they… they killed her.”

            Addison’s breath caught in her throat for a moment before she regained her composure. The girl was too young to be speaking so practically of death, but her mother was probably one of the six bodies that were now lying, covered in Inquisition cloaks, at the edge of the village remains.

            Addison leaned back from the girl, forcing her lips to pull up in the corners. “Your mother would be proud. You’ve been very brave.”

            The girl sniffed again, more tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

            “Addison!”

            It was Sister Maren’s panicked call, and Addison rose to her feet and scanned the area to find the chantry woman kneeling by smoking pile of wood that must’ve been a wagon before. The sister was trying to hold down a man who was flailing on the blackened grass.

            “Let him go,” Addison ordered, running to them. A baby screamed and wailed from somewhere else in the village, the sounds piercing the air above the quieter sobs and murmurings.

            Sister Maren was breathing heavily, still struggling to pin the man to the ground.

            “Step back. Holding him won’t help,” Addison rattled off, reaching for the bag that lay beside Sister Maren, barely avoiding getting kicked by the man as she dropped to the ground. “What have you given him so far?”

            “A healing potion, and then I put the numbing agent on his wound before I tried to give him stitches.” Sister Maren answered, her voice trembling.

            Addison yanked the bag of supplies to her, taking an inventory of the man’s injuries. Bleeding from the left shoulder—only a graze. Stab wound in his abdomen. _Nothing that should be causing a seizure._

            “Did he have any indication of a head injury?” Addison raised her voice to be heard over the choking guttural noises coming from the man in front of her.

            “I—I don’t know. He seemed fine.” Sister Maren answered thickly, her face contorted.

            Addison let out a growl of frustration as she dug in her pack for a sedative. “Must be head trauma we didn’t catch.”

            “I’m so—”

            “Don’t be.” Addison inched closer to the man’s torso, trying to pour the contents of the vial into the man’s mouth as he writhed. She swore as the murky liquid trickled from the side of his lips, only some of it entering his mouth.

            He gagged on it, one of his fists catching Addison’s side. Addison ground her teeth together as his arm smacked against her again.

            Then the man coughed, blood spraying over his lips before all writhing subsided.

            “Maker, help us.” Sister Maren gasped.

            “Check his pulse,” Addison snarled at the useless invocation as she pulled the man’s head into her lap, fingers gently parting the wiry dark strands.

            He had a divot in his skull, blunt trauma that left just the surrounding hair matted with blood. Addison’s fingers were stained red as she said, “Pass me the bag.”

            Sister Maren was shaking her head. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Addison.”

            Addison froze, a chill running over her skin. She pressed two fingers to the pulse point on the man’s neck.

            Nothing.

            

* * *

 

            The initial chaos had subsided, and Cullen spoke quietly with the village leader about their plans now the villager had been reduced to cinders.

            “There’s nothing left for us here,” the wizened woman told Cullen. Her back was stooped with age, but there was a hopelessness written on her face that Cullen couldn’t look away from.

            “I’ll have the Inquisition send a wagon down tomorrow for those who can’t make the journey on foot. I won't guarantee that the village on Haven’s outskirts will have room, but we can look into getting tents for the time being.” Cullen was already thinking of the papers he would need to write when he returned to Haven. There would be reports, supply requests, death count adjustments—

            The death count was at eight by the end of the night. Four were killed in the initial attack, one in the time it took for Cullen to arrive with Thirrin’s unit, and three in the hours they spent until nightfall. Cullen’s own soldiers who were injured in the attack survived, but one would have a long road of recovery ahead of her.

            In the hours before, Cullen had helped the uninjured soldiers from Rylen’s unit and from Thirrin’s to put out the remainder of the fire, moving debris and helping with basic bandaging. But it was Addison and the chantry sister who ran around the ruins of the village, and Cullen had assigned Bates and Shane to help them in whatever way they could.

            “Thank you for your generosity, Commander.” The village leader inclined her head.

            Cullen let his hand fall to the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t accustomed to interacting with civilians this much, and found himself unsure of what to say. “The Inquisition does what it can.” Was he supposed to accept to thanks, or say something more diplomatic? This is why he stuck to ordering troops around and battle tactics while Josephine and Leliana handled all other interaction.

            “The Inquisition has our gratitude.” The old woman answered. “We will have to bury our own tomorrow morning, but we will leave for Haven when the wagon arrives.”

            Cullen nodded, relieved at being back in the territory of plan making. “Three soldiers will stay with you tonight, along with those who were injured in Knight-Captain Rylen’s unit.”

            “And the healers?”

            Cullen’s eyebrows pulled together before he realized the village leader spoke of Addison and Sister Maren. “I’ll ask them now.”

            He found Sister Maren by the bodies, praying over them quietly. She told him in a wavering voice that she would stay for the burial in the morning, and Cullen set off to find Addison, the corpses behind him.

            Movement caught his attention, and he saw a figure in the darkness heading out of the village clearing toward the trees. He recognized Addison from the height and the gait that almost resembled stomping.

            She was hardly quiet, and Cullen easily found her by simply following the sound of her crunching over leaves and fallen branches in the patch of firs.

            “Addison,” Cullen called as he drew closer, grimacing as a branch dragged across his face and he pushed it out of the way with a gloved hand.

            “Yes, Commander?”

            _Maker, she sounds exhausted._

            “Do you plan to return to Haven tonight, or will you stay with the villagers?” Cullen questioned, making an effort not to sound as brusque as he usually did when communicating with her.

            Addison moved to rub her eyes, only to let her hand fall. Her fingers were covered in blood and she instead raised her shoulder and brushed her cheek against it. “There are still potions I need to administer. I’ll stay.”

            Cullen felt a surge of respect for the young woman, and he found himself digging in the pocket of his coat for the cloth he used to clean his sword.

            He’d washed it just this morning, though it felt like a week ago with the length of the day. He extended his arm, offering the cloth to her.

            She stared at it, raised her eyebrows, and asked flatly, “Are you offering me your favor, Commander Cullen?”

            “What?” Cullen felt his mouth drop open slightly. “No! Your hands—you—I thought—”

            Addison snorted, taking the cloth from him. “I was making a joke, Commander. I thought we could both use it after the last few hours.”

            “Oh—I—of course,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, glad for the darkness masking any pink that appeared in his cheeks.

            She smiled. It was crooked, almost more of a smirk. “I didn’t realize I could disarm the Commander of the Inquisition so easily. Should I offer you a rose during our next argument to render you speechless?”

            “Maker, please don’t,” Cullen muttered, trying to frown at the teasing but ultimately failing. There was something about the cool air and the way the moon was shining that almost made him feel relieved.

            Pale light streamed across Addison’s face, unblocked by the tops of the trees. He had always thought her to be made of malcontent stone, but in the moment, she seemed… soft.

            Her prominent nose had the slightest raised bridge, and on either side of it her eyes didn’t contain their usual cold fire.

            “Everyone’s stable as of now,” Addison said softly after they had both been quiet for a few moments—Addison watching the sky and Cullen watching her. “I can’t speak to full recoveries, but if we’re lucky, they’ll all make it through the night.”

            A slight breeze rustled through the branches, ruffling the furs on Cullen’s shoulders. The softness in Addison’s face had turned to something else, and she bit her lower lip in a fashion that gave her away.

            Cullen almost took a step back. He had no experience with _consoling._ If she was his soldier, he would offer a sharp, _good work soldier_ , expect a salute, and then he could walk away.

            Addison was still rubbing her fingers with the sword cloth, with a feverishness that almost looked like she was trying to scrub away a layer of her skin. The simple, small, motion reminded him of her relative inexperience. She was no warrior, after all, but an apothecary.

            “The reports made it sound like the Crossroads were this bad, as well.” Cullen stated quietly, wondering how exposed to this kind of violence she really was.

            “On some days.” Addison replied, still running the cloth over her hands. “Others were better. Others were worse. But it's still...”

            Cullen watched her, almost expecting the typical stony expression to slip over her face again. It didn’t.

            “It doesn’t get easier,” Cullen murmured in acknowledgement. He knew the rest of her sentence.  _But it's still hard._

            That gave her pause, and the frantic brush of the cloth over her hands stopped. “No. It doesn’t.”

            Cullen knew they both spoke from experience. It was a mutual reassurance that he found them both relaxing into, and Addison took an audible breath.

            “Thank you, Commander.”

            The words made Cullen find her eyes again, the color of her irises impossible to discern, drawing him away from his own thoughts. “What?”

            Addison held up the bloodied sword cloth. “For your token.”

            Cullen actually chuckled, surprising himself with the sound. “You can keep it, if you’d like.”

            “It isn’t embroidered with your initials?”

            “No,” Cullen answered, looking at her with confusion before he realized she was joking again. He felt himself smiling slightly as he replied, “It’s not scented with anything other than sword oil, either.”

            “How disappointing,” Addison replied seriously. “I was expecting it to sprayed with rose scented perfume.”

            “Rose scented?” Cullen asked, slightly incredulous. A gust of wind made the trees whisper, and the cold bit at his cheeks.

            Addison cracked a smile now. “Complaints aside, I’ll wash it before I return it to you.”

            “That’s not necessary—”

            “It’s covered in blood and questionably crusty bits, Commander,” Addison answered, holding the contested cloth up.

            Cullen looked at it and quickly said, “Ah. Yes.”

            “Crusty bits will always get you.” Addison commented in her typical flat tone.

            “I see that now,” Cullen replied as Addison crumpled the cloth again. Sense returned to him, and he wondered how he could’ve become so distracted for their conversation. “Brant, Thirrin, and Hudson will stay here to protect the area tonight, and a cart will arrive tomorrow morning for the injured. There will be an escort to the village on the outskirts of Haven, and then you can continue back with the soldiers.”

            “Understood.” Addison answered, rolling her shoulders back. She had to stifle a yawn as she asked, “Are you returning tonight?”

            “I am. But if there are any problems, Thirrin will be able to handle it or send word to me.”

            Addison raised her eyebrows. “You know, Commander, I did handle problems at the Crossroads _without_ the Inquisition.”

            Cullen sighed at her usual attitude arising again. He was surprised that they'd even made it almost an entire conversation without one of her snipes. “Of course. Your remarks on the Inquisition aside, I don’t believe the bandits will return again.”

            “There’s nothing left for them to pillage.” Addison pointed out grimly.

            “Agreed.” Cullen was fairly certain the most dangerous thing they’d face would be a wild boar, and three Inquisition soldiers should be able to handle that. “I’ll take my leave, then.”

            “Have a safe ride as you return to Haven, Commander,” Addison answered, in what almost resembled a pleasant tone.

            Making his way back toward where the horses were tied, Cullen wondered if maybe the apothecary was not as impossible as he’d previously assumed.

 


	5. Moving Forward

            Cullen woke before dawn, images from Kinloch Hold still playing behind his eyes and a violent pounding in his skull as he pulled on his armor with unsteady hands.

            He had been without much pain for days, and he had forgotten in its absence how unpleasant it was to wake up with his head splitting. And he had plenty of business to attend to today.

            Reports had reached Haven of the Herald’s appearance in Val Royeaux. Cullen had mulled over the Order’s abandonment of the city for quite some time, trying to find reason. It was madness. Cassandra had seemed just as perturbed in her writing, and Cullen could only decide to wait for her return.

            Lavellan had also been invited to some social function by an elite mage. _Vi—Vil— What was the name again?_

            Cullen shook his head as he exited his tent, the sky gray with clouds covering any signs of sunrise. Whoever the mage in Orlais was, Leliana’s eyes had sparkled with the kind of look that always made Cullen nervous. The Orlesian mage was obviously diplomatically important.

            The Herald planned to return soon, after her meetings. Then he, Josephine, and Leliana would have to discuss with her how to move forward. They needed get a move on regarding finding a solution to closing the breach. And soon.

            He rubbed the side of his face with his glove at the persistent headache as he accepted the morning report on the Hinterlands from a scout.

            The words blurred together when he tried to look at the message.

            Cullen blinked several times, but even he could notice the way the paper shook between his fingers. Quickly, he dismissed the scout and returned to his tent.

            His stomach rolled as he sat on the edge of his cot, eyes fixed on the report before him. Slowly, the splotches of ink formed barely discernable letters. Then words.

            Cullen read the report quickly, trying to push away the growing sense of dread in his stomach.

            How much longer could he hide what the lack of lyrium was doing to him?

            _It’s just the headache,_ Cullen breathed deeply. It couldn’t be true, though. The headaches were only a side affect.

            Resting his forehead on clasped hands, he murmured the chant, “Though I am flesh, Your Light is ever present, and those I have called, they remember, and they shall endure.”

            There was more to the verse, but he broke off, grinding his teeth against the pain threatening to rip his head apart.

           Cullen sat there for a few more moments until it began to grow uncharacteristically warm in the tent. Outside, he had clearly seen his breath, but now he felt like he was a step away from a hearth.

            Tugging at the cloak around his neck, he left the tent again.

            He needed air. Yet he could never seem to get enough of it.

 

* * *

 

            “And then there was a dragon!” Lina gasped though she was the one telling the story. “Really, in the Bone Pot—”

            “Bone Pit,” Rose corrected with amusement.

            Addison stifled a snort. She and Rose were both well versed in the Tale of the Champion, but it was new to Lina. After meeting the dwarf Varric, the girl had gotten her hands on a copy of the book and promptly devoured it.

            “Right, in the Bone Pit.” Lina’s enthusiasm was undimmed by her mother’s interruption. “And Hawke fought it off with her friends. A real live dragon!”

            “Though it’s a real dead dragon, now.” Addison muttered under her breath.

            Rose giggled at the side comment. “Do you think we’ll get to see any dragons while we’re in Haven, Lina?”

            The size of Lina’s eyes grew instantaneously, “Maybe! Though there aren’t any mines nearby, are there?”

            They walked through the early morning frost, boots crunching over the frozen grass. Some of the snow had melted in the areas around Haven, where the ground was lower. The villagers who had moved after the attack were now set up in tents beside an existing hamlet that lay only ten minute walk from Haven.

            “Dragons aren’t just around mines, Lina. They can be almost anywhere. Though legends say they love gold most of all.” Rose supplied.

            Rhys, apparently bored, put his mouth at Addison’s ear and blew in it forcefully.

            Addison startled, leaning back to look at the grinning toddler in her arms. She wrinkled her nose at him, and his smile widened in delight at catching her surprised.

            She attacked immediately, blowing a raspberry on his cheek as he squirmed, mouth open in a soundless giggle when she drew back.

            He tried to do the same to Addison’s neck, and she adjusted her hold on him so he was just out of reach. Rhys’s face was impossibly bright as he squirmed in an attempt to get closer to her.

            Addison barely even noticed how hard she was laughing until Rose joined in, extending her hands so she could tickle Rhys’s sides and the little elf boy flailed, still giving a toothy grin.

            She hugged Rhys to her after Rose finished the tickling assault, and Rhys wrapped his arms around her neck, burying his face in her hair in what seemed to be a sign of surrender.

            “Mama, look!” Lina gasped, pointing to a patch of frosty grass.

            There was a splash of color there—flowers frosty but alive, a combination of deep red and dusk orange. “They’re beautiful,” Rose took Lina’s hand, and they both left the path without further conversation.

            Addison didn’t bother to restrain her eye roll. “I have to see to the villagers.”

            “Right, right. We’ll only be a moment,” Rose called cheerfully as she squatted in the grass with her daughter.

            Addison pursed her lips, waiting impatiently as Rhys began playing with strands of her hair. She rubbed circles on his back with her hand while she sent a glare off in Rose’s general direction. _Always impractical,_ Addison huffed to herself.

            It was more than just a moment, and Addison frowned at Rose when she and Lina finally stood, flowers in hand.

            “What?” Rose asked innocently at Addison’s sour expression. “Here,” she selected a red flower and tucked the stem behind Addison’s ear.

            Addison scowled in response and began walking again, Rose and Lina behind her, and they reached the tents of the displaced villagers soon enough.

            A man Addison had come to know as Travis greeted her with an update on the recoveries, and Addison gently set Rhys down on the ground in the middle of the tents. Rose kept an eye on him as he meandered, stopping to inspect bugs or tall blades of grass.

            Lina set to work with Addison as she swung her pack off her shoulder, checking dressings and providing more healing potions.

            Those who had the worst injuries still had ways to go before they were recovered, but at the very least all were on the mend.

            Addison couldn’t help but smile to herself as Lina very seriously uncorked vials, handed out bandages, and assisted in any way she could. While the girl was like her mother in enthusiasm and whimsical fascination with pretty or ‘fun’ things, she could be practical and was eager to help.

            She was much like Rose, and sometimes much like Addison, but never much like her father. It was something Addison was immensely grateful for.

            Addison reached Eppie and her brother Carson last. The now-orphans had been under the care of the village leader, and Addison couldn’t help but wonder what their eyes had been like before they were forced to watch their mother die and their village burn.

            She knelt beside Eppie first, unwinding the bandage around the girl’s burnt arm. It hadn’t been infected, much to Addison’s relief. Addison began applying the usual healing salve while Lina offered the little girl a flower.

            Eppie took a red one, declaring, “Now we’re matching, Addie!” She needed Lina’s help adjusting it in her hair, but had it situated against her dark locks as Addison finished wrapping a clean bandage around the burn.

            Addison moved to Carson next, and the boy watched her mutely as she gently probed his leg. Eppie played with Rhys behind them, joining in his bug-catching adventure.

            “You’re healing up quite well,” Addison told Carson.

            He simply watched her in a manner Addison could only think to describe as hopeless. He had not once responded to her questions or reacted to her rather inept attempts to make him laugh.

            Lina, who was sitting next to Addison, hesitantly reached out with a flower in hand. “Do you want one?” She asked with her utmost sincerity.

            Carson looked at the flower, his lips pulling down in the corners before he shook his head.

            Lina retracted her hand, only to swap the orange flower for a red one and offer it again. “How about this one? Red’s my favorite color.”

            Carson stared at the thing before shaking his head again.

            Lina let the flower fall, clearly hurt. “Oh.”

            “They make me sneeze.”

            The quiet comment surprised Addison, and she tried not to let it show. “All flowers? Or just this kind?” She asked simply as she measured out a quarter of a healing potion and handed it to him.

            “Most flowers. My nose itches,” Carson replied in a small voice.

            “Oh.” Lina said again. She frowned, only to turn to Addison. “Addie, I’ll be right back, promise.”

            “Don’t go too far,” Addison called as Lina sprung to her feet and ran behind her.

            Fixing her eyes on Carson, Addison decided to push her luck with the boy’s decision to speak today. “Does anywhere else hurt other than your leg, Carson?”

            He shook his head yet again, but followed it up with a hesitant, “When can we go back home?”

            Addison tried to hide her wince at the question. “It might be a little more complicated than the matter of ‘when’,” she answered gently, handing him the little bit of liquid. “Have you ever lived anywhere else other than your village before?”

            Carson shook his head again, though he drank the healing potion without grimacing at the taste.

            “Hm.” Addison accepted the emptied bottle back. “I moved around a lot. It means that I had one place that was home, and then another in a different city, and another one now.” She wasn’t sure she considered Haven a home at all, but it was hardly the point she was trying to make. “You’re going to make a new home closer to Haven.” Addison paused, unsure of how to describe it. “And it’ll be different, but it’ll still be your home.”

            “But I want to go back.” His lower lip trembled as he spoke.

            Addison felt her chest tighten painfully. “You can’t,” she said, because it was the truth and there was no way to soften it.

            His eyes filled with tears, and Addison leaned forward to push dirty hair away from his face. “But when you can’t go back, you just go forward.” Addison told him, using her fingers to gently pull through his tangled curls.

            Carson sniffed, running his hand under his nose. “I want to see Ma again.”

            If her chest was tight before, now it felt like someone was squeezing her lungs. “I know,” Addison whispered, wishing she had something better to say.

            The little boy leaned to the side, and then his head was in Addison’s shirt. He cried quietly as Addison wordlessly stroked his hair.

            Addison let him lean against her as she finished binding his leg again. His sniffles had begun to subside, and Addison put one hand on his shoulder. “What’s special about home, and the people who belong there,” Addison said softly, “is that you can keep everything right here.”

            She tapped his temple.

            “Ma always said it was here,” Carson sniffed, placing his palm over his heart.

            Addison’s lips quirked up at that. “There too. Your mother was very smart.”

            Carson nodded, rubbing away stray tears on his dirt streaked shirt. “She was.”

            Lina reappeared, one hand behind her back as she knelt beside Carson. “Um. Carson?”

            The little boy looked up slowly, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand, then his running nose.

            “Here.” Lina presented the thing clutched in her hand. A smooth pebble, cream colored with darker streaks running along its length. “Since you can’t have a flower.”

            Addison didn’t really understand the significance of flowers _or_ rocks, and apparently Carson shared the sentiment. “A rock?”

            “There’s a pond along the path to Haven. This is the perfect pebble to try to skip stones with.” Lina said with a hint of apprehension written across her face.

            Carson reached out slowly, fingers closing over the offered gift. “I don’t know how.”

            Lina’s face brightened. “I can teach you!”

            Carson hesitated before saying, “I want to learn.” He finally separated himself from Addison, and she stood before helping the little boy to his feet.

            “Can we go to the pond now, Addie?” Lina turned her to Addison.

            Addison glanced at Carson’s leg, wondering if he would be able to make the walk without pain. “Maybe next time we come.”

            Carson tugged on Addison’s cloak with a serious expression. “When will next time be?”

            _Such a change from the silent boy,_ Addison thought with a small smile. She should’ve had Lina try talking to him from the start. “I don’t know. Lina, when can we come back?”

            “Tomorrow?” Lina suggested.

            “We can stop by in the afternoon,” Rose’s voice came from behind Addison, who didn’t know how long she’d been standing there. Rhys stood next to her, occupied with a beetle crawling over his knuckles.

            Carson chewed on his lower lip. “Promise?”

            Rhys’s beetle took flight, and he blinked in surprise.

            Lina nodded, and Eppie joined them now. “We can find more flowers, too.”

            Addison thought of her own flower currently poking out from behind of her ear and determined that the kids would probably clear out all foliage within a day’s walk of Haven. She also resolved to send a bit of a healing potion with Rose in hopes that Carson’s leg wouldn’t throb their entire outing.

            “Alright, come on now.” Addison said, squatting before Rhys and pointing back to Haven.

            He took two fingers and made them walk, and Addison nodded her affirmation. Addison straightened, extending her hand. Rhys slipped his fingers into her palm. She had to stoop slightly, even with Rhys extending his hand above his head.

            Rose and Lina were behind her after giving Carson and Eppie more assurances that they would return tomorrow.

            Lina offered to hold Rhys’s hand after a few minutes, and Addison was grateful to stand normally again as the girl and the elf boy wandered ahead of her and Rose, a gentle breeze rustling the trees on either side of the path.

            Rose looped her arm through Addison’s, leaning her head on her shoulder. “It reminds you of when we were younger, doesn’t it?”

            Addison gave her friend the side eye. “If it were us, you’d be pulling me off at a breakneck pace trying to get into trouble.”

            Rose scoffed at that. “And you’d be dragging your feet complaining that you wanted to stay home. You would never have done anything fun if it weren’t for me.”

            “I would never have gotten into any trouble, either,” Addison made a face.

            “That didn’t happen often!” Rose protested, giving Addison an incredibly affronted look.

            “Right. And when it did, I always took the blame so your mother wouldn’t be upset.” Addison reminded her flatly.

            Rose grinned impishly. “It’s because you’re a good friend.”

            Addison snorted. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

            They were quiet for a few more steps, with Addison keeping a worried eye on Lina and Rhys while Rose tipped her face to the sky.

            The sun warmed Addison’s skin despite the chill of the air, and the snow that had been on the ground this morning melted in the time they’d been at the hamlet.

            “Do you regret it?”

            Addison frowned, tilting her head to look at Rose as she interpreted the words. “Leaving Denerim?” She guessed.

            Rose wound a strand of her impractically long hair around her finger. “Yes. I know I didn’t ask you to leave, but I should’ve guessed you would come back once I told you.”

            Addison batted Rose’s hand down from where she worried at her hair. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Addison said simply. Truthfully.

            “I was fine. People have their husbands leave them all the time. I could’ve handled it on my own,” Rose answered, her voice verging on bitter.

            Addison met her eyes unguardedly. “Would you have wanted to?”

            It was just their footsteps crunching over the grass before Rose shook her head, saying, “No. But… you wouldn’t have been caught up in all of this. Maker, Addie, you came back to the Crossroads with a war waging around you.”

            “I travelled with a caravan. It wasn’t as daring or dangerous as you seem to think it was,” Addison put off her concern.

            Lina and Rhys stopped to watch a butterfly, and Addison halted as well, turning to face Rose. “And everything that’s happened since—I’m glad I’m here, Rose. The Crossroads were my home, too. Lina might as well be my niece. And Rhys—we both knew Lyrene and Meren well enough for Rhys to be family.” Saying the names of Rhys’s parents, people that Addison grew up with, was still difficult.

            Lyrene had died giving birth to Rhys, but Meren… Meren was cut down by rogue mages at the Crossroads. Addison was the one to drag his body back from the forest where he’d been trying to hunt for the refugees and Inquisition soldiers.

            “But it’s been hard,” Rose correctly read the expression on Addison’s face. It was no surprise, though. If anyone could see beyond Addison’s cold exterior, it was Rose.

            “It’s been hard for both of us.” Addison murmured. “But at least we’re surviving this together.”

            “Thank you.” Rose told her quietly. “I don’t think I’ve actually said that since you came back, but thank you.”

            Addison offered her a lopsided grin. “Is this the part where I give you a hard time about waiting this long to say it?”

            Rose elbowed her. “No, this is the part where you say ‘you’re welcome’.”

            “Fine, fine. You’re welcome.”

            They walked the rest of the way with teasing, though Addison carried Rhys once his legs grew tired and he plopped down in the grass, attempting to crawl instead.

            Approaching Haven’s gates, Addison spotted Commander Cullen.

            He was watching the recruits with a stern intensity, and Addison’s hand went for the cleaned handkerchief in her pocket that she’d meant to return to him a few days ago. This morning, she’d grabbed it so she wouldn’t forget if she ran into him again.

            “Addie?”

            “You can go on in,” Addison said quickly, realizing that the Commander had noticed them and was now watching the exchange. “I forgot I needed to speak with Commander Cullen. I’ll meet with you later.”

            Rose waved, and she and Lina disappeared inside the gates.

            Rhys was sleeping with his chin on Addison’s shoulder as she made her way around the training recruits.

            “Addison,” Commander Cullen nodded his greeting.

            “Commander,” Addison answered, turning a critical eye on the training. “No injuries yet today?”

            “None at the moment,” the Commander answered. “If you’re here to lecture me, you’ll have to come back later.”

            Addison was only half paying attention to him since the recruits trying to bludgeon each other were occupying most of her thoughts. “Be careful, Commander. You know I’ll take you up on that opportunity.”

            Commander Cullen chuckled, “Yes, well…”

            “Another argument for another time,” Addison supplied with a smirk, holding out his handkerchief. “Thank you for letting me borrow this.”

            “It was no trouble,” Commander Cullen replied quickly, taking it from her. The handkerchief disappeared into his fur coat. “How are the villagers faring recently?”

            “Healing. Your soldiers?”

            “Better.”

            Addison smiled slightly at the exchange, finally looking away from the recruits. Her face fell immediately as she took in the Commander’s complexion. His skin seemed waxy, pale and stretched over his cheekbones, and his lips were chapped. “Are you alright, Commander?” Addison felt her eyebrows pull together.

            “What?” He responded, only for him to say quickly, “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

            The impatience of his tone only made Addison purse her lips. “You have a fever.” She didn’t bother asking.

            Commander Cullen’s eyes hardened, suddenly looking at her with something akin to distaste. “It’s not a problem,” he snapped.

            Addison blinked at him, his tone stinging more than it should. “I see,” she replied icily, unsure of where his sudden defensiveness came from. “If you change your mind, I’ll have a coolant ready to bring down your temperature. Good day, Commander.”

            She turned on her heel and marched away, only for her gait to wake Rhys up momentarily, the little elf boy stretching before nestling into Addison’s neck.

            Addison grumbled to herself as she passed through the gates of Haven. _Bloody Inquisition Commander. Can’t tell a fever from his own foot._

Addison remained in a mood as she passed Rhys off to the care of Flissa and Rose, and it further deteriorated when Adan handed her an incredibly long to-do list.

She made the coolant after she finished the batch of healing potions, only to glare at it from its position on the shelf.

            The Commander, while proving he did have some semblance of humor, was still far from her favorite person. In fact, Addison wondered if she would rather spend the day with Chancellor Roderick.

            _No,_ she amended as she hung deep mushrooms to dry; _Chancellor Roderick is in a class of his own._


	6. Alexander

            Singing was one of the many reasons Addison preferred to be alone.

            In fact, ever since Adan left in the late morning, Addison had sung to herself. It was mostly tunes her mother had taught her when she was a child, but sometimes she hummed nothing in particular, her voice sliding from note to note without much thought.

            When there was a knock on the door to the cabin, Addison had initially been annoyed, all sound immediately cut off with the addition of other people in the small space. But she found Solas holding Rhys, and she reluctantly abandoned the feeling in favor of a small smile.

            If she had to have company, she was glad for it to be the quiet apostate and Rhys.

            Rose had gone to the hamlet with Lina again, and Addison was beginning to think Rose enjoyed the trips more than her daughter.

            Regardless of who planned the outing, Rhys had been passed off to Solas. Instead of leaving the little boy with Addison, Solas sat with her while she worked.

            Solas had only returned the night before, alongside Seeker Cassandra, the Herald, the dwarf Varric, and two new faces.

            “It sounds like the Herald made quite an impression in Val Royeaux,” Addison said as she measured out two spoonfuls of crushed spindleweed. Herald of Andraste or not, Addison didn’t know how to refer to the mage who could interact with the breach.

            “Indeed, she did,” Solas agreed, bouncing Rhys lightly on his knee. “Though I am not sure what was more controversial—her appearance, or the chantry’s rift with the Templars.”

            Addison frowned as she brushed her hands off on her skirts, setting the bowl of remaining spindleweed aside. “Any time the chantry is involved, things tend to stop making sense.”

            Solas inclined his head ever so slightly. “I am surprised to hear you voice such an opinion. Were you not raised a devout Andrastian?”

            “Oh, I was.” Addison pursed her lips, pausing from the cold resistance tonic she was making. She was incredibly tired of treating frostbite for the soldiers who slept without gloves on, or had holey socks. “The chantry, however, might as well be run by druffalo.”

            The corners of Solas’s mouth twitched. “An interesting observation.”

            “Do you think more highly of the chantry?” Addison asked, returning to the tonic.

            Rhys flapped his hands in excitement as Solas switched the little boy from one knee to the other. “No, I don’t believe so,” Solas answered, and Addison detected amusement in his eyes. “Though it may be the first time I have heard someone compare members of the chantry hierarchy to druffalo.”

            Addison smirked. “There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there? After all, Chancellor Roderick would fit right in.”

            Solas chuckled as there was a rap of knuckles on wood.

            Addison glanced over her shoulder to see the Herald herself in the doorway. “Hello, Solas.”

            “Greetings,” the elf replied evenly.

            “Do you have a moment to spare?” The woman asked, looking at Addison with an expression Addison read as mischievous.

            “Of course, Herald,” Addison answered, stepping away from her workstation and wiping her hands on her skirts again.

            The woman quickly waved one hand in the air. “Please, I’m just Ilara. I’ve been called ‘herald’ so much these last weeks, I’m beginning to forget my own name.” Her voice had a light lilt to it, and she gave Addison an open smile. “Addison, yes?”

            Addison nodded and made an attempt to return her own, unused to the casual friendliness the Herald—Ilara—offered. But then again, there was work to be done. “Is there a potion you’d like?”

            Ilara shook her head. “Potion, no. There’s something else the Inquisition’s newest friend suggested. Have you ever made a grenade before?”

            Addison stared at the elf. “No. And that’s why I have all ten of my fingers still attached,” she said flatly.

            Ilara laughed, the sound high and tinkling. Rhys was following her every movement, seemingly transfixed. “I see. They’re that dangerous, then?”

            “If they’re not handled properly,” Addison replied, her eyes narrowing. “Who suggested grenades? Are they aware that transporting them require absolute care?”

            “Sera suggested them, actually. She’s one of the newest Inquisition recruits,” Ilara answered, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “And I’m not sure she would think much of transporting anything, no matter how dangerous, with care.”

            Solas arched an eyebrow. “Then I would think she could not be trusted with such things.”

            “Sera wasn’t requesting anything for herself, but suggesting the Inquisition look into the idea.” Ilara rubbed the bridge of her nose, right at the point where her dark green tattoos ended. The markings extended to lines above her forehead, then down her cheeks like long leaves, and more down her chin. “I thought it was worth asking about, at the very least. You won’t have to worry about Haven exploding while you sleep.”

            “I am grateful for that,” Solas quipped.

            Addison snorted. “I am, too.” The easy grin on Ilara’s face made Addison relax slightly in her presence. “If you’d like me to make grenades, I would need certain equipment. They’re not too difficult to create from what I’ve read, but the real problem is handling them afterwards.”

            “If you make me a list, I’ll bring it to our quartermaster,” Ilara said, before pushing herself from the wall with a roll of her shoulders. “And who is this _len_?” She took a step toward Rhys on Solas’s lap, and Addison tensed.

            “Rhys,” Addison told the woman shortly. “He’s in my care.”

            _And yet I almost said ‘he’s mine’._

Ilara appraised Addison momentarily before nodding. “His parents?”

            “Dead. His mother the day after he was born, his father killed at the Crossroads.” Addison frowned, watching the Herald closely.

            Something flashed in the woman’s yellow eyes before she fixed her gaze on Rhys again. “ _Ir abelas, lath_ ,” she said gently.

            Solas glanced up at her with the foreign words, though Addison guessed it was elven and he might understand as well.

            “He does not hear?” Ilara asked, still smiling at Rhys.

            “No,” Addison answered shortly. She kept an eye on them, her brow furrowed as she waited for Rhys to give off any sign of distress.

            Instead, Rhys gave Ilara a toothy smile and reached forward with fingers that should have still been chubby with youth. But they were thin, and Addison sent a silent apology to Lyrene and Meren for not keeping their son from feeling pangs of the disaster ripping through Ferelden.

            Rhys tapped Ilara’s face as she leaned down to him, and he traced the lines of her tattoos, eyes wide with delight.

            “If you’d like him to stop—”

            “It’s quite alright,” Ilara interrupted Addison kindly. “Though I suppose I have work to do.” She took one of Rhys’s hands and kissed it gently before straightening.

            Addison let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding as Ilara stepped away. Though Addison found that she was warming to the Herald, she was not likely to trust strangers with him.

            “No rest for Andraste’s chosen?” Addison questioned, her voice flat.

            Ilara winked without hesitation, catching Addison’s sarcasm with ease. “I suppose not. I fall from the sky a traitor, and the next thing I know I’m a human god’s vessel and I have a hundred things to do.”

            “Funny how it all works out,” Addison replied dryly.

            “Speaking of such things working out,” Solas preempted as Rhys turned in his lap, holding his arms out to Addison, “what were the results of your conversation this morning?”

            Addison scooped Rhys up in her arms, and he buried his face in her neck after a bit of squirming.

            “Leliana agrees we should contact the mages, particularly after the Grand Enchanter’s invitation in Val Royeaux,” Ilara answered. Her face seemed to grow wearier. “Cullen, however, was quite… displeased with the suggestion.”

            Solas pressed the tips of his fingers together. “I do not find that surprising, given his background.”

            Ilara sighed. “I’m wondering if we should look into contacting the Order after all. Mostly because we may not know enough about the mark to warrant pouring more magic into it. Have your studies revealed anything?”

            “If I speak honestly, I believe both parties could assist in closing the breach, whether it be through suppressing the breach itself, or adding more magic to your mark,” Solas told her, taking on the role of a pacing tutor as he stood and moved to the edge of the cabin.

            Addison understand just enough of their conversation to pull the pieces together as Rhys gently tugged on her hair. The Inquisition needed help closing the breach, and were torn between asking the mages or the Templars to help.

            _Preferably, neither group would be running around Haven,_ Addison grumbled to herself, nose wrinkling in distaste.

            Ilara tucked a strand of hair behind her ear that must have fallen free from her bun. “I’m just worried Cullen’s Templar past will make him adamantly refuse our attempts to reach the Grand Enchanter.”

            “The Commander was a Templar?” Addison asked sharply. She had no intention of interrupting their conversation, but she was _sure_ a ‘Templar past’ could only mean one thing.

            Solas and Ilara looked at her, and Ilara nodded. “He left the Order to join the Inquisition.”

            Addison only half-registered their words. “But he’s from Ferelden.”

            Ilara’s brow furrowed. “Yes. He told me he served in the Ferelden Circle before he was transferred to Kirkwall.”

            Addison felt her hold on Rhys tighten involuntarily, and she forced herself to take a slow breath. _It couldn’t be…_ “Do you know when he served in Ferelden?”

            Solas was frowning, searching Addison’s face as Ilara answered, “Around the time of the Blight, I believe.”

            Addison looked blankly at the woman. _He might’ve been there._

* * *

 

            Cullen slammed his fist on the war table, the markers rattling at the disruption.

            _No one ever listens_ , Cullen thought, rubbing a gloved hand over his eyes. _No one ever listens until it’s far too late._

Lavellan seemed set on going to the mage rebellion, and Cullen was positively against it. But of course, she was a Dalish apostate, and it would be her first reaction to assist the rebel mages. Never mind the danger it posed when she wanted to pour magic into the mark on her hand that they barely understood.

            And Leliana—Leliana agreed with her!

            Cullen fumed, but slid his hand from the war table. The Herald was becoming a force to be reckoned with, gaining reputation in the Hinterlands, bringing new recruits to the Inquisition, and holding her own during fights from what Cassandra had told Cullen.

            Yet she would also put the Inquisition, and the very prospect of closing the breach, in danger because of her affinity for mages.

            It made him furious.

            Cullen sighed at the persistent headache made worse by the way his blood was pounding in his ears, and took several deep breaths.

            He was the Commander of the Inquisition now, and no longer with the Order. He would voice his opinions, but then follow the will of the other Inquisition leaders. And he would deal with the consequences when they arise—should they arise.

            The war room was far too quiet now, only Cullen’s uncomfortably ragged breathing in the silence.

            He straightened and moved around the table to push open the door to the main chantry. It was another day with the Inquisition; at the very least, they were making progress.

            Cassandra was incredibly concerned with the Lord Seeker’s actions in Val Royeaux, but even as she and Cullen spoke after the others left from the meeting, they could find no explanations.

            Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as he left the chantry. The recruits were to be tested today, to see if any were ready for patrols. There were new recruits flocking to Haven everyday. Some of them wouldn’t know the hilt of the sword from the blade, but Cullen didn’t turn them away.

            Not when the Inquisition was needed in so many areas. Cullen would be lucky to turn out ten competent soldiers for every fifty recruits that came to Haven. The remaining forty would return home, or help the merchants.

            The blacksmith, Harrit, had already received several ex-recruits who wanted to help but discovered waking up covered in bruises and blisters every morning was beyond them.

            Cullen didn’t hold it against them.

            The weather was warmer today, and Cullen turned his face up to the sun and paused for a moment. It was almost peaceful at the top of the stairs.

            At least it was until he heard, “Commander?”

            He snapped back to attention, finding Addison looking at him strangely, the little elf boy she so often walked with in her arms.

            “What is it?” He asked, though he didn’t intend to sound quite so sharp. In all honesty, he felt guilty for snapping at her days before when she prodded about his health. But he couldn’t let his problems—his secrets—be exposed so easily. And Addison was incorrigibly stubborn once she got started on something, as he’d learned in previous arguments.

            “You were a Templar.”

            Cullen frowned at the statement, almost a grimace. “Yes, I was.” As if he needed further reminding. “I left the Order, however, and no longer hold any of those titles.”

            Addison was still watching him with something indiscernible in her eyes. “In Kinloch Hold?”

            Why did she have to mention that living hell? He had already been thinking of it through the morning. Because no one listened— no one _ever_ listened. “Yes,” Cullen answered tightly.

            “A year before the Blight—were you there?” Her gaze was piercing now.

            Cullen, rather than feeling impatient, felt his eyebrows pulling together. Why did she want to know about before the Blight? Usually, all questions poked at the Blight itself. “Yes, I was.”

            Her mouth opening slightly in what seemed to be shock. She lowered her gaze to the ground then, and continued quietly, “There would’ve been a boy there. Well, he was fourteen at the time. Tall and thin, with his nose always in a book.” Her voice shook, and Cullen found himself staring in confusion. “He had dark blonde hair and hazel eyes. Alex.”

            Cullen shook his head slowly. “I don’t recall anyone by that name.”

            Her eyes were on him again. The little boy in her arms squirmed, but Addison’s expression didn’t change as she moved him to her other side without hesitation before the boy settled again.

            “No?” Her expression was somehow imploring without losing any of its hardness. And she sounded bitter. “He was an apprentice. Brilliant, but quiet in an arrogant sort of way. You might’ve known him as Alexander. Alexander Mare.”

            “No, I don’t believe I remember him,” Cullen observed her in confusion, perplexed by her interrogation and description. “Who is he to you?”

            Addison glared through him. At least, he felt the depths of her gaze through his armor, making him shift his weight uncomfortably.

            “He was my brother,” she said at last, and it is quieter than Cullen expected. “But he would’ve been just another mage to you.”

            Cullen could only blink as Addison walked past him with a barely audible, “Good day, Commander.”

            He turned to watch her go. Her brother had been in Ferelden’s Circle with him. He should’ve known their relation from Addison's description. Tall, thin, dark blonde hair and hazel eyes—yet Cullen didn’t remember an apprentice like that.

            Even the name brought back nothing.

            As he stood outside the chantry trying to think of a boy named Alexander Mare, he realized he didn’t remember many apprentices at all. In fact, only Solona came to mind.

            Cullen rubbed a hand over his face before starting toward the training grounds outside Haven’s gates. He had delayed too long already.

            But the question of why Addison wanted to know if Cullen remembered the boy—her brother— stayed in the back of his mind through the rest of the day.


	7. Addressing Concerns

            He could feel it in every shiver that ran down his spine, in the sweat pouring down the back of his neck, in the ache that permeated his bones, in the roll of his stomach.

            Lyrium.

            “Cullen?”

            His vision was sliding in and out of focus as he tried to remember where he was. The voice was Leliana’s, and he could make out a frown on her lips.

            “Yes?” Cullen was afraid if he tried speaking in full sentences, his tone would give away too much about his current state.

            “I asked if there there any recruits you could see doing well as scouts,” Leliana sounded like she must be narrowing her eyes.

            Cullen’s breathing was too loud, and he tried to swallow though his mouth was far too dry. “I’ll—I’ll keep an eye out.”

            “Cullen, you need—”

            “I’m fine,” he replied shortly, leaning away from the table.

            _Yes, the war room,_ Cullen realized.

            “Don’t be foolish. It’s obvious from ten steps away that you are not well,” Leliana said, cool and collected. “It is easy enough to say you have caught a chill, but your fever must be treated.”

            “I said I’m _fine_ ,” Cullen growled, the drumming in his head slamming painfully against his eyes.

            “You made this decision so you would not give any less to the Inquisition than to the Chantry,” Leliana spoke quietly, but there was no gentleness to her words. “But you are endangering your health as well as those who serve under you.”

            Cullen tried to take a step forward and staggered, catching himself on the wall with a gloved hand—a hand that was still freezing despite the leather that covered it. “If I am compromised, Cassandra will—”

            “Cassandra’s judgment is blinded by her hope for what you could do for other Templars who would follow suit,” Leliana moved, sliding in front of him. “You must think of the Inquisition.”

            “I am,” Cullen said through gritted teeth. It was all he thought about now; troop maneuvering, recruit training, patrol planning.

            For the first time, Leliana seemed to soften. “I know. I do not mean to berate you about your commitment, Cullen. But if you don’t make any attempts to at least deal with your symptoms, you will collapse. And you will fail the Inquisition.”

            Cullen felt his eyes close. It had been so long since he slept. “I can’t. I won’t.”

            “See to your health?”

            “Fail the Inquisition.” Cullen forced himself to look at Leliana, to focus until he could actually make out her expression. It betrayed worry, which was more than she usually let show beyond her mask. “I can’t let… let _this_ get in the way.”

            Leliana reached forward lightly, placing her hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “Then don’t.”

            Cullen nodded, though it made his vision slide away again and his stomach churn. “I will see to it.”

            Leliana hesitated. “Be discreet. Would you like me to handle it?”

            “No,” Cullen answered immediately, guilt prickling under his skin. “You don’t need to be involved in this.”

            The Spymaster answered with a dark laugh. “I’m afraid it is too late for that. But we knew the risks when we asked you to join us.” She squeezed his shoulder before she moved back toward the table. “And I am glad you are here. But I would appreciate if you took more care of your health.”

            Cullen rubbed the side of his face, the violent shakes so painfully obvious. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

            He took a deep breath, and he could almost smell the sharp tang of lyrium.

            _Maker help me,_ Cullen shook his head, which only made his eyes sting at the accompanying pounding in his head. If he was hallucinating the smell of lyrium now—

            His jaw clenched tighter. “Goodnight, Leliana.”

            It was night, wasn’t it?

            Leliana hummed in response, and Cullen took that as an answer.

            He couldn’t even remember what time of day it was when he had come into the chantry for a meeting with Josephine and Leliana.

            Cullen’s gait was uneven as he made it to the door of the war room, pushing it open unsteadily.

            The Herald had left for the Hinterlands almost a week ago to follow Leliana’s lead on a Grey Warden there, and this time had left the dwarf behind along with the newly recruited mage from Orlais. Thankfully, Lavellan had taken the crude new elven archer with her. It was one less thing Cullen had to deal with. The elf—Sera—had made life insufferable for him in the few days she had been at Haven. She particularly enjoyed shouting lewdly at the recruits and cackling when she distracted them.

            Cullen grimaced, though he wasn’t sure if it was at the chill that ran over his arms despite his layers of clothing and armor or thinking of Sera.

            It was dark outside—he’d been correct in remembering the time of day.

            Snow was falling lightly, and he started toward the apothecary cabin.

            He could have one of his soldiers collect potions or a poultice for his fever, but this was a personal problem. And the last thing Cullen wanted to do was to make his declining health known to the soldiers.

            Maker’s Breath, he was their commander. If they couldn’t rely on him, trust that he would be of mind to make decisions that involved their _lives_ —he couldn’t be that to them.

            Cullen knew what it was like to have a mad commander in the lead. He would not become Meredith to them. He would not lead them astray.

            He couldn’t.

            There was a world to piece together and civilians who were suffering in the war, and because of the breach. He needed to be there for the people who were putting their lives on the line for their cause. He couldn’t fail them.

            He still stopped outside of the door to the apothecary. There was a light flickering inside the windows, indicating either Adan or Addison was still inside.

            He hoped very fervently it was Adan.

            Haven was quiet with the late hour, even the sounds faintly carrying from the Singing Maiden were muted.

            Cullen shivered again, his knees nearly buckling underneath him as he leaned on the door for support.

            He truly couldn’t stall any longer.

           

* * *

 

 

            “Andraste’s knickers, Rose, I’ll eat when I’m bloody hungry,” Addison scowled irritably at the set of poultices she was only half done making despite how late it was. She was tired due to Rhys’s insistence on not sleeping the night before, and frankly incredibly cranky. “I don’t need you trying to force food down my throat like I’m a child.”

            When no answer came, Addison turned slowly from her workstation to the door she’d heard creaking open.

            It was Commander Cullen, his face waxy even in the dim light of the candles, his tall frame filling the doorway. “I—ah—”

            “Commander.” Addison wasn’t sure if she sounded surprised, questioning, concerned, or tired.

            The commander, on the other hand, sounded exhausted. His eyes were unfocused, and when he moved forward, she could see his feet dragging.

            She looked him over clinically, though she could feel her eyebrows pull together. “Your fever worsened?” She could’ve strangled him, if he weren’t so ill, for letting his health degrade when she’d tried over a week ago to help him.

            “Ah—yes.” His cheeks were gaunt, and what looked like purple bruising under his eyes from an obvious lack of sleep. His hands were trembling, though he tried to hide it by gripping the hilt of his sword with one and rubbing the back of his neck with the other.

            He was clinging to his damn pride, stubborn man.

            Yet any remaining annoyance fled from Addison when she regarded his sickly state.

            “Sit,” Addison ordered, pointing to the chair. “Please.” It was an afterthought, but one she thought would perhaps soften the blow to his ego.

            Commander Cullen nodded, but it seemed to be a mistake as he lost his balance.

            Addison closed the distance between them quickly, catching his arm and helping to steady him.

            She could feel the heat radiating from him, sweat glistening on his forehead. “I can’t believe you let it get this bad,” Addison muttered under her breath.

            It was completely bizarre that the commander neither retorted nor pulled away.

            His head was practically lolling, his breath uneven.

            “Come on. You need to be off your feet.” Addison couldn’t possibly carry him—she lacked any sort of muscle—but fortunately the commander was able to lean on her for the few steps it took to get him to the chair.

            Addison helped him sit down, and he shuddered as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his face resting in his hands.

            “I’m going to get you a coolant first, and then we can figure out what else you might need,” Addison said, though she wasn’t sure if the commander even heard her.

            She shuffled quickly through the shelves, finding a batch she’d made a few days earlier due to an outbreak of the chills in that cultist compound in the Hinterlands.

            Addison uncorked it, odd to find that her heart was beating faster than usual in her chest. She was worried for him.

            She held the little bottle out to Commander Cullen, but he didn’t seem to register it. “Commander,” she called him sharply.

            His head jerked up, a wince twisting his features. He looked at Addison blearily, almost as if he was focusing on something past her, and she realized that he was having a hard time _seeing._

            The commander’s body was practically breaking down.

            Addison knelt beside him, pressing the coolant into his hand. “Drink this.”

            His fingers were shaking, tremors running through his arm as he brought it to his lips.

            The vial slipped from his grasp before he could finish it, shattering on the freshly cleaned floor. Glass and blue liquid splattered around Addison’s knees.

            “Maker, I’m s—sorry,” Commander Cullen shuddered again. It was humiliation now that was clearly written across his face. “I shouldn’t have come. Forgive me, I—”

            He tried to stand and Addison was on her feet again so she could put one hand on his chest. She shouldn’t have been able to keep him seated so easily, given that he was a man with broad shoulders and obvious strength in addition to his height. But he was far too weak, and crumpled again.

            “You’re sick. There’s nothing to apologize for,” Addison told him tersely. “So let go of your damn pride for one moment and let me help you.”

            The commander blinked at her slowly, his jaw clenching. “This isn’t a matter of pride.”

            Addison pursed her lips. “Then stay here and drink as many potions as I give you.” She could tell she was testing his patience, but he wasn’t in a state where he could argue with her.

            Instead of answering, he buried his face in his hands again.

            Addison sighed as she moved back to the shelf with the coolant. “What other symptoms? Sleeplessness?” She guessed. “Any nausea? The more you tell me about the illness, the better I’ll be able to treat it.”

            The commander was silent for a moment, and Addison frowned in annoyance.

            It wasn’t until she handed him another bottle with blue liquid did she remember a _Templar’s_ needs. Because the man before her was a Templar, after all. Another one of the Order’s carefully chosen, self-righteous—

            _It’s not the time,_ Addison reminded herself with a deep breath. She’d worked with Templars at court in Denerim, and she could work with Commander Cullen.

            Addison put on her best professional mask. “Do you need lyrium?”

            Commander Cullen almost dropped the bottle for the second time, his eyes widening, bloodshot and pained.

            “No!” He snarled it, vehement to the point that Addison froze. Another tremor ran through him, and he voiced it a second time, his voice rough but much quieter. “No. No lyrium.”

            The response made Addison study him in confusion. Lyrium might actually help some of his symptoms. She’d seen a Templar once who had been taken as a hostage and held for ransom by bandits. The man served at court for Queen Anora, as King Alistair had a particular distaste for the Order.

            When Queen Anora had negotiated his release, Addison had gone with the court physician to see to his injuries. He’d been without lyrium for too long, his hands shaking and icy, his eyes unfocused with a fever far too…

            “This is lyrium withdrawal.” Addison said softly as it clicked into place.

            Commander Cullen was deathly quiet. The sound of his ragged breathing vanished from the room as he watched Addison. “What did you say?” His voice was barely more than a rasp.

            Addison observed him closely. _Angry? No. Afraid,_ Addison realized with a jolt. He had one foot in the grave, yet had refused to come see her for his fever though it would’ve been obvious to himself that he was sick.

            And of course the fever had lasted far too long to be a typical illness as well.

            “You’ve stopped taking lyrium, haven’t you.”

            It wasn’t a question.

            “This isn’t—you shouldn’t—” He tried to speak hoarsely.

            Addison pushed away strands of hair that had fallen loose from her stubby ponytail, trying to think. She’d given the Templar in Denerim lyrium right away, but with Commander Cullen—

            “I’ll have to research it,” Addison muttered. “I don’t know much about how to ease the lyrium withdrawal, but if you won’t take any—”

            “No.”

            Addison glared at him without any real bite behind it. “Yes, I understand that. So we’re going to have to figure out what can stave off the symptoms. The coolant will bring your fever down, but I can’t imagine it won’t come back. I can, however, give you some elfroot for the pain and something to help you sleep in the meantime.”

            She plucked the empty coolant bottle from Commander Cullen’s still shaking hand and placed it in the ‘to wash’ basket and searched for the dawn lotus she had crushed yesterday.

            He was trying to stop taking lyrium. Maybe that’s why he said he ‘was’ a Templar, rather than still being one. But lyrium withdrawal, what Addison knew of it, seemed incredibly dangerous.

            The commander didn’t say anything as Addison handed him a vial of elfroot and water.

            She made sure he drank it before she went back to her workstation, taking a pinch of the dawn lotus powder and sprinkled it into a clean bottle. She ladled water into it next and swirled it around. “If you drink about half of this tonight and half of this tomorrow night, it should help with your sleep.”

            Addison reached for the elfroot powder now, measuring it more precisely with a wooden spoon as she added it into the bottle. “If you have a headache, it can ease that as well.”

            She grabbed a cork that was the wrong size first, then found another that was too small, and finally got one that she could jam into the bottle’s opening.

            “Is your stomach unsettled? Do you need something for that?” Addison turned back to Commander Cullen.

            He was watching her, exhaustion etched into his haggard face. “This is… more than enough.”

            Addison resisted sighing impatiently again. “It’s not enough if it’s not addressing all of your symptoms.” She narrowed her eyes. “It also might be a good idea for you to stay here for a little while until your fever lowers and you stop shaking so much.”

            She was sure these were all blows to his pride, but it was only honest to point out. He may be the commander, but she was the authority on potions and poultices.

            “Addison.” It was the first time he’d said her name through the entire exchange. He looked defeated, slumped over. His large pauldrons glinted in the candlelight over the hunch of his shoulders. “This must… I would ask that you keep this information to yourself.”

            “Of course, Commander,” Addison replied immediately, almost offended that he would question her secrecy. “I wouldn’t have survived at court if I’d had a constantly wagging tongue.”

            Commander Cullen rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “At court?” His voice was still uneven.

            Addison nodded, her lips quirking up. “You wouldn’t believe how many noble lords were terrified of their health issues circulating around Denerim. Apparently having foot fungus was horrendous for their reputation.”

            The commander chuckled, though it was followed by another wince of pain.

            “Your head still hurting?” Addison asked quickly, moving to stand before him and taking his wrist, pushing his glove away so she could take his pulse.

            “It’s better, thank you.” Commander Cullen answered, the shaking thankfully subsiding from his limbs. “I hadn’t realized you worked at court in Denerim.”

            His pulse was too fast, and Addison made a mental note to check it tomorrow. “I was only there for a year and a half. I was apprenticed to the court apothecary.” She gently pressed her hand against his forehead.

            His eyes were amber, something Addison had noticed previously and hadn’t thought of again. She found that she quite liked the color. They were warm, almost like her favorite honey she always put in tea. He cleared his throat and Addison jerked her hand away.

            _How long have I been staring absently into his eyes?_ Addison blew air through her lips. “You still feel too warm,” she mumbled as she turned away. “Let me get you a coolant you can take in the morning.”

            The commander was watching her closely, and Addison suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious as she took one last vial of coolant from the shelf.

            When she faced him again, it was clear he wanted to ask something.

            “What?” Addison questioned bluntly. It might’ve sounded a little rude.

            Commander Cullen rubbed the base of his neck. “You asked me about your brother. Alexander.”

            She hadn’t expected that.

            Addison’s hand clenched slightly around the bottle. It only took the mention of her brother to make her hands turn clammy. She struggled to keep her voice even as she spoke. “Did you remember something?”

            The commander actually looked apologetic. “No. I’m afraid Templars didn’t interact with the mages often in Kinloch Hold, other than to watch them.”

            Addison felt her nostrils flair. “That was not all the Templars did,” she said, aware of the harsh tinge to her tone.

            Commander Cullen’s brow furrowed, and Addison felt a pang of guilt for bringing this up when he had staggered into the cabin nearly unconscious less than half an hour earlier. “Did—ah—did something happen to him?”

            _Of course something happened to him._ Addison felt the pain rip open again. It was eleven years ago, but is still seemed so fresh in her mind.

            “Forgive me. That was a personal question.” The Commander said softly.

            “It’s fine.” Addison shook off the memory as she always did. “I brought it up with your first outside the chantry, didn’t I?” She added wryly. “About a year before the Blight, he ran away from the Circle and appeared back at our home in the Crossroads. He was… terrified of something from the Circle, but he wouldn’t say what it was. Just that he couldn’t go back. The Templars came for him.” This is where Addison ended the details of the story. It’s where the story _should have_ ended, and her brother could’ve still been alive and continuing his pretentious existence in the Circle Tower, surrounded by his beloved books and writing to her only when he wanted something sent to him.

            Addison blinked when she realized she’d stopped talking. “There were complications.” _Complications? Can I even call it that?_ It still gave her nightmares. But yes, it was a hellish complication that resulted in Alex’s death.

            Addison swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He died. I wrote to Kinloch Hold asking what made my brother so terrified of the Circle that he would flee after living there for years, but I never heard back.”

            Commander Cullen had listened to it all without moving, and now shifted back slightly in the chair. “And you thought I might know what caused his attempted escape.”

            Addison exhaled sharply. “I hoped. I’d never seen him that—” Addison shook her head. She was venturing into the realm of feelings and memories that were far too personal. “It doesn’t matter.”

            The commander ran a hand through his dark blonde waves at that. “If I recall anything, I’ll inform you.”

            “I… thank you.” Addison wasn’t sure of what else to say, so she handed him the coolant and the sleep aid. “Here you are.”

            Commander Cullen stared at each of them. “Ah. Yes.”

            Addison rolled her eyes, glad to be back in comfortable territory. The commander obviously hadn’t listened to her fully earlier. “The coolant is this tiny vial with blue liquid. Take it tomorrow morning if you’re still feverish. This,” she pointed to the slightly larger bottle that contained a light brown sludge, “will help you sleep. Drink half of it tonight and half of it tomorrow night. If you have trouble sleeping even after that, come see me. And if you want to be discreet, just let me know you need me to come by here later. Or I can bring things by your tent.” She rattled it all off without pausing to breathe. “Any questions, Commander?”

            The commander looked up from the potions to Addison. “Cullen.”

            She stared. “That would be your name, yes,” she said flatly, not betraying a smile at her own teasing.

            The most color she’d seen in Commander Cullen’s cheeks since he stumbled into the cabin appeared, and he cleared his throat again. “I meant you needn’t address me as ‘commander’.”

            “Oh,” Addison said, giving the man a smirk. “I thought the fever might’ve melted you brain a little bit, there.”

            The commander, _Cullen_ now, laughed shortly. “It might have. But I believe knowledge of my own name remained in tact.”

            Addison felt the crooked smile even out into a real one, and watched the commander, no, _Cullen_ , do the same. “If you need anything else, let me know,” Addison said, returning to the business at hand when she felt a strange heat rush to her face. “I’ll come argue with you again if I see you limping around and force various potions down your throat. Discreetly, of course.”

            Cullen snorted. “Oh yes, discreetly forcing potions down my throat sounds like an easy task.” He looked easily ten times better than when he’d come into the cabin.

            Addison broke into a true grin now. “With a little practice. You should get some rest.”

            He nodded, slipping the small bottles into his coat. “Thank you.”

            It was so sincere and warm, and Addison didn’t know how to respond to it. “Right. You’re welcome,” she added the proper reply as an afterthought.

            He stood finally, and Addison reached out without thinking to his forearm to steady him. Fortunately, he seemed to have surer footing now.

            Their proximity was close enough that Addison could smell the elfroot on his breath. She was close to his height, leaving her nose level with his mouth when she stood normally, and when she averted her eyes she found herself looking at the scar on his upper lip.

            And she was still holding his arm.

            Addison quickly let go of him. “Well. Goodnight, Cullen.” She turned away from him quickly so he wouldn’t see the Maker-forsaken blush creeping up her neck.

            _What in all of Thedas has gotten into me?_ Addison wondered to herself, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

            “Goodnight.”

            Of all the men in Haven—of all the men in Thedas—it was the commander (no, _Cullen_ ) whose soft ‘goodnight’ made her flush harder.

            Well. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still finding mistakes after multiple rounds of editing, so if you ever find inconsistencies or typos, please let me know! :) I would love to hear suggestions or general thoughts on everything so far.  
> Thank you for reading! ^^


	8. Something Odd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.   
> This is a super late update, and I'm reeeeally sorry! I'm offering the excuse that I moved across the world (100% true) and then spent the last month and a half power-learning a new language and trying to buy groceries with minimal language competency.   
> At any rate, thank you for your patience. I hope this chapter of relatively fluffy content makes up for the delay!

            Addison despised large groups of people and crowded places. She would rather spend twelve hours making healing poultices in a windowless hut. She would rather smack her head repeatedly against a wall. She would rather jog laps around Haven in the snow.

            She was vaguely aware she was making a face of disgust, but found she didn’t care enough to arrange her expression into something more pleasant.

            “Don’t tell me you know how to play the lute too, Princess!”

            The incredulous voice came from the dwarf, Varric, who was sitting with a tankard between his hands.

            Rose had dragged Addison to the Singing Maiden, insisting that Addison spent too much time alone, and that a night drinking with friends would do Addison some good.

            So Addison spent the last two mugs of ale sitting in the tavern corner while Haven’s townspeople laughed together at Varric’s stories.

            Ilara had left him behind in favor of taking her new archer recruit—an off-putting elf named Sera—with her to the Storm Coast. Something about recruiting a mercenaru group had called her away, and Addison had been sure to find sturdier potion belts for Ilara and the others accompanying her.

            “I’m not very good,” Rose’s laugh carried through the Singing Maiden as she accepted the lute.

            Addison snorted to herself. Rose was _very_ good at the lute. She already had the attention of almost everyone in the tavern, having abandoned Addison immediately after she sat down to chat with another new Inquisition recruit named Blackwall.

            Rhys was on Flissa’s lap, playing with her sleeve. Lina watched her mother between yawns, tired from all of her enthusiasm over Varric’s stories in the hours before.

            Now, Rose strummed the lute strings and brought about a chorus of cheers before she began playing a more complicated pattern, sitting gracefully on the edge of a table next to the counter.

            Everyone seemed enraptured, and Addison stared into the dregs of her cup. She rather related to them at the moment.

            It was a painfully obvious flashback to Addison’s childhood. There was the pretty one, who was talented and kind, named after everyone’s favorite flower. And then there was the pretty one’s gangly, grumpy friend.

            Addison was still gangly and grumpy, but now she watched the scene with a resigned sigh rather than jealousy. She waited until Rose came to a grand finish of her song, clapped along with everyone else, and stood to leave.

            “Addie!”

            Addison froze, her back to the rest of the tavern, hand outstretched to the side door.

            “Why don’t you sing for us before you leave?” Rose beamed at her as Addison slowly turned around.

            “I’m not nearly drunk enough for that,” Addison replied dryly, aware that all eyes had turned on her. Her heart skipped a beat in nervousness, though she refused to let the panic show.

            Varric gave a good-natured laugh. “That’s an easy enough fix.”

            Addison wasn’t sure the dwarf actually knew who she was, much less her name. It seemed to be his manner to just be _friendly_ with everyone. “There’s an order I have to fill before tomorrow morning,” Addison mumbled. “Enjoy your evening.”

            She quickly spun on her heel and fled the tavern, letting the door swing shut behind her.

            Rose could be so incredibly frustrating sometimes.

            Addison wrinkled her nose in annoyance as she stalked back to the apothecary in the cold, moonlight glinting on a thin patch of snow that covered the ground.

            She had no intention of going to the tavern for dinner again.

            Her schedule had been busier lately since she began meeting with Sister Maren to learn a bit about patching people up. Stitching up wounds still made her strangely squeamish, but she was determined to be more useful should another bandit incident occur again.

            So her precious free time was important to her.

            And she’d wasted most of her evening at a table by herself in a noisy tavern.

            Still griping to herself, she shouldered the door to the apothecary cabin open. Adan was inside, and they exchanged nods as Addison went to her workstation.

            She exhaled slowly as she began measuring out the herbs she would need.

            “Oh, Addison,” Adan said from his own table.

            “Mm?”

            The man wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Just got news an hour ago that we’ll be getting some Templars that abandoned the Order in the next couple of weeks. Well, they may be coming in from neighboring circles for quite some time.”

            Addison’s frown from earlier deepened. _More Templars running around._ “Great,” Addison muttered unenthusiastically.

            Adan shrugged. “Don’t really care about that. But the Ambassador came and asked me if I knew anyone involved in lyrium supply lines since asking the Chantry for theirs isn’t exactly possible. Do you have contacts from your time in Denerim?”

            Addison’s brow furrowed as she processed the question for a few moments. She was sure Queen Anora had her own lyrium supplier, but she hadn’t been privy to that information. “I wasn’t exactly involved in smuggling while I was there,” Addison answered flatly. “I didn’t know anyone who handled the processed lyrium to create the potions, either.”

            “I figured that was the case.” Adan returned to corking bottles. “Ah, well. It was worth asking.”

            Addison grabbed the bucket of water from underneath her table and hoisted it up.

            She wasn’t thrilled with the idea of having more Templars around, but at least it wouldn’t be the deadly combination of Templars _and_ mages. The last thing Haven needed was an influx in the two most dangerous groups in Ferelden.

 

* * *

 

            Cullen read the letter again. It was in Cassandra’s scratching writing, the style familiar and easy to scan over.

            But no, he hadn’t misread.

            Lavellan would be going to Redcliffe now to meet with the Grand Enchanter.

            Cullen rubbed his eyes with the back of his free hand, trying not to crush the letter with his other.

            While Cassandra hadn’t explicitly stated she was unhappy with Lavellan’s new plan, it was rather clear she was uneasy about it. The Herald, along with the Chargers she’d just recruited on the coast, would stop by Redcliffe on their way back to Haven.

            Cullen paced inside his tent for a few moments in the darkness. The light flickering from his candle was just enough to cast shadows on the fabric walls around him. He could see the stoop in his shoulders, the fingers now running through his hair.

            There was little he could do about Lavellan’s choice now. He would have to wait until she returned, and pray that she made wise decisions until then.

            _Maker have mercy on us all,_ he thought bitterly.

            Cullen straightened, folding the letter neatly before pushing open the flap to his tent and making his way to the chantry. His footsteps crunched over the packed snow, Haven quiet at this hour.

            At the chantry, he dropped off the letter with Josephine, who was furiously writing at her desk.

            “Word from Mistress Lavellan?” She asked, delicately accepting the paper from Cullen.

            “An update, yes.” Cullen rested one hand on the hilt of his sword.

            Josephine’s eyes flitted across the page, and she nodded her approval. “We’ll await further news.” She looked evenly up at Cullen, as if she could sense his frustration. “What is your take on this?”

            “You already know the answer,” Cullen said, unable to his voice perfectly even like she could.

            “I suppose I do.” Josephine set her quill down on a little stand beside her inkwell. “But I am grateful for your continued support and cooperation despite your personal disagreement.”

            “It’s not personal,” Cullen replied sharply. “It’s practical.”

            Josephine frowned slightly.

            Cullen sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude, Josephine. But I _am_ concerned for the Inquisition should Lavellan recruit the mages.”

            “And I’ve been concerned for the Inquisition regarding ever decision we’ve made up until this point,” Josephine countered firmly, though not unkindly. “I trust in the voices of reason that brought us here thus far, yours included. But in this, I believe we should listen to the voices of our magical advisors. Mistress Lavellan and Solas both agreed that the mages are our best chance at providing the mark with enough power to seal the breach. Leliana’s researchers are working to confirm that with what little information they have.”

            Cullen found he didn’t have the patience to argue, so he merely made a noncommittal noise. “If there’s anything you need from me while we wait for Lavellan to send word, let me know.”

            “I will do that,” Josephine replied. “I’ll also pass this letter on to Leliana, though I’m sure her spies intercepted it on its way here already.”

            That honestly wouldn’t surprise Cullen either. “Then I’ll take my leave.”

            “Sleep well, Cullen.”

            It wasn’t until Cullen was walking out of the chantry that he realized that sleeping well was actually a possibility tonight.

            Over the last week, Cullen had found his headaches more manageable, his fever low or absent, and his nightmares less vivid.

            Addison had left a bag full of potions and a list of instructions in his tent when Cullen hadn’t gone back to the apothecary. In fact, at the end of her page of instructions, Addison had written in a cramped, looping hand: _Either you’re miraculously all better or you’re too proud to come get the potions you need. Take these. You’re welcome._

Cullen smiled slightly to himself thinking about it now, grateful for the apothecary while finding himself amused by the gruffness he initially thought to be off-putting.

            And there had been no questions of his illness, no whispers of lyrium around Haven. She had thankfully kept his secret.

            He found himself walking toward the apothecary cabin to check in on her and Adan with something akin to anticipation. Perhaps Addison wasn’t as insufferable as he initially thought.

            Cullen rapped his knuckles on the apothecary’s door before entering.

            At first, he thought no one was there. But upon second glance, he saw Addison siting against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest.

            Her head rested right below the window, but she was stirring as Cullen considered stepping back out to let her sleep.

            “What’s it now?” She slurred, rubbing at her eyes and peering at him blearily. “Oh!” She quickly pushed herself to her feet, hand wiping at the corner of her mouth. “Com—Cullen.”

            “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Cullen said quickly. “I can always come back another time.”

            Her hair had fallen loose from its tie, gold strands hanging around her chin. Yet there was something about her disheveled state that made her look less severe than usual.

           “Now’s fine. I need to be finishing this batch of cough medicine, not sleeping.” She tried pushing her hair behind her ear, but it just fell forward again, her motion utterly ineffectual.

            “Ah.” Cullen watched her try to fix her hair again. He cleared his throat, suddenly remembering why he came here in the first place. “How are your stocks faring? Do you feel like we’re well equipped to deal with any injuries from minor skirmishes?”

            Addison moved to stand at one of the high tables that had crushed leaves scattered across the top. “It depends on how many are involved,” Addison after a moment. “We keep a minimum of twenty healing potions on hand at any one time. Disinfectants and numbing agents, forty of each.”

            Cullen stepped farther into the cabin so he could speak to her while she worked. “Salves?”

            Addison glanced up at him as she used a wooden spoon to measure out a yellow powder. “Five. They don’t keep well for very long.”

            Cullen nodded. “Do you and Adan need any additional supplies?”

            “If the Inquisition can get its hands on Royal Elfroot, I could increase the potency of our healing potions. But it’s not a pressing matter.”

            “I’ll see what we can do.” Cullen made the mental note to ask Leliana if her scouts knew of any area with the plant. “Anything else?”

            Addison paused, the wooden spoon half plunged into the bowl of powder, glancing at Cullen before she resumed measuring again. “Are you feeling better?”

            “Yes. Much better. I—ah—meant to thank you,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved hand, “for the bag you left in my tent.”

            “You didn’t seem like you were going to come get it yourself,” Addison replied shortly, giving him a slight glare from the corner of her eye.

            Cullen blinked at her. “Yes. Well. Thank you.”

            “You can thank me by keeping your health in check.” She ducked her head for something, hair falling like a curtain over her cheek and obstructing her from view. “Do you need anything now? Any coolants?”

            “No, I believe I’m much better.”

            “Good.” She set down her spoon and finally turned to look at Cullen directly. “I couldn’t find much on lyrium withdrawal from an apothecary’s standpoint. Haven doesn’t exactly have a grand library, and because you need me to be discreet I didn’t want to go poking around too much.”

            Cullen’s frowned slightly. He vaguely remembered that Addison had mentioned looking into lyrium withdrawal treatments, but he hadn’t expected her to follow through. “The Order wouldn’t allow it.”

            “Why am I not surprised?” Addison’s voice was flat, and she accompanied her words with an eye roll. “But the other draughts were effective enough?”

            Cullen nodded as Addison returned to mixing together her potions.

            “Are there others from the Order who are trying to stop taking lyrium?” Addison spoke softly now as she began crushing elfroot leaves.

            “Not yet. I don’t know of anyone personally who _chose_ to stop taking it. Those who were cut off… they were addicts, hunting for their next dose and caring for little else beyond that.” The words left a sour taste in his mouth as he recalled Samson in Kirkwall after he was removed from the Order. He and Samson had never been friends, but seeing the man lyrium deprived and desperate was far from pleasant.

            Her eyes fixed upon him again. “You weren’t cut off.”

            “No,” Cullen affirmed, aware of the intensity in her gaze. “I chose to leave. I serve the Inquisition now, and I will not be bound to the Order, or that life, any longer.” He felt a surge of something akin to anger, though he wasn’t entirely sure where it was directed. Perhaps himself, for the things he had done. Or with the Order, for their lyrium controlled reign and undercurrent of corruption he had been so blinded to.

            His jaw was clenched, and he realized he was glaring at Addison without meaning to. Yet she didn’t avert her gaze, candlelight dancing off of gold flecks in her irises Cullen had never noticed before.

            “I’ll keep looking,” Addison said suddenly, as if she had reached some conclusion.

            “Looking?”

            “For information about lyrium withdrawal. If it gets worse again, we need to be prepared.” Addison returned to her elfroot leaves, grinding them with the pestle clanging quietly against the mortar.

            It was the casual _we_ Addison used that gave Cullen pause. He had been handling all of this alone. He had kept Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine in the dark as much as he could. It was his decision, and therefore his burden.

            Yet the apothecary was suggesting that she was his… _Partner? Comrade? Friend?_ Cullen watched her work with a small amount of confusion. Maker, he wasn’t sure the young woman even liked him as a person. Sometimes she seemed to barely tolerate his presence.

            “Do you want to sit down?”

            Cullen’s head jerked up at her words. “Sit down?”

            She quirked an eyebrow. “You know, that thing you do when you bend your knees and plop down on a chair for a few minutes?”

            It surprised an embarrassed chuckle out of Cullen. “I’m familiar with the motions.”

            Addison snorted, cracking a smile as she used her elbow to gesture for the chair in between the two worktables. “Feel free to practice over there to increase your familiarity.”

            Cullen hesitated for a moment, aware that he had a pile of paperwork waiting for him back in his tent. But he found himself wanting instead to familiarize himself with the chair in the apothecary. Oddly enough, Addison’s presence was almost relaxing.

            It was no doubt the smell of elfroot and the other plants that were drying on the wall above her work station, considering the apothecary usually put him on the emotional range of annoyed to furious.

            “Or you can stand there staring like I’m sprouting a second head.”

            Cullen blinked, catching the humor in Addison’s expression despite her flat tone. “Ah. Yes.” He cleared his throat, eyes flitting to the chair. “Can I help with anything? You’re on your feet. I wouldn’t feel right only watching you work.”

            “Were you recently trained in medicine making?” Addison asked with a slight tilt of her head, pulling stems off of deep purple flowers. “I was under the impression your training mostly involved how to poke people with sharp objects and shout at cowering recruits.”

            Cullen felt as if he should be offended, but her words lacked any true bite. “I see your point.”

            Addison thrust her chin forward to the chair as she began pulverizing petals. “Then rest up a little. I might even decide _not_ to complain about all the pulled muscles and twisted ankles I’ve been treating due to your new training methodology.”

            Lowering himself onto the chair, Cullen sighed tiredly. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you actually _enjoy_ telling me all the things you dislike about my methods.”

            “Damn, you’ve caught me.”

            “Were you even trying to hide it?”

            “I suppose not,” she laughed, eyes crinkling around the edges so dramatically the deep green disappeared.

            Cullen chuckled as well, tension leaving his shoulders though he hadn’t realized how heavy they’d been before.

            But it was most definitely the smell of elfroot making the stress of the day lessen. After all, he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the malcontent young woman. It wouldn’t make sense if he was simply enjoying her company.


	9. Bad Ideas

            The nightmares had returned.

            Cullen was exhausted, and nursing a headache despite the elfroot mixture he’d drank earlier in the morning. The slight shake of his hands had never subsided despite Addison’s potions, but Cullen had forgotten in the last few weeks that the incessant pounding in his skull was normal. Now that it had made its return, he had to reacquaint himself with the constant ache that ran through his body.

            It also made him more impatient than usual, and given that the Herald had returned from Redcliffe the night before and asked for a meeting this morning, Cullen was mere seconds away from snapping at the sheer stupidity of the Herald’s plans.

            “Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults.” Cullen glared through Lavellan, more annoyed with Leliana and Cassandra for entertaining her suicidal plan than with the Herald for coming up with the idea. The Herald, at the very least, was a civilian and not used to military maneuverings or making calls that affected people other than herself. Leliana and Cassandra— _They should know better,_ Cullen thought, gritting his teeth together. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.”

            Leliana moved a step closer to Cullen, her hands clasped behind her back but a glint in her eye. “And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.”

            “Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught,” Josephine’s voice was raised. “An Orlesian’s Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands our tied.”

            Cassandra grimaced. “The magister—”

            “Has outplayed us,” Cullen cut her off, gripping the hilt of his sword to anchor himself to something.

            “Then we’ll have to outplay him.”

            Cullen looked back at the Herald, who had been quiet for most of the conversation. The only indication she gave that she was as agitated with the situation as the rest of them was the narrowing of her yellow eyes.

            She turned them on Cullen now as she continued, “Cassandra, you say we can’t afford to forfeit Redcliffe. Leliana, you believe we can’t lose the mages. I think that leaving the mages in the hands of Alexius would be nothing less than selling them into slavery.” Lavellan raised her chin, as if daring anyone to disagree with her. “Beyond these things, Alexius won’t just leave the Inquisition alone if we choose to decline his invitation. From what Felix said, this Tevinter cult wants me. Cullen, you say I’m the only means to closing the rifts— I’m obviously much more useful to you alive. We need to deal with Alexius, or I may find myself dead at the hands of the Venatori regardless, and the Inquisition loses its chance to seal the rifts. At least this invitation gives us indication of how and when Alexius plans to kill me. We can, as you put it, outplay _him_.”

            Cullen stared at the Herald, struggling to form a response. He felt a slight pang of guilt at previously reducing her to a means to close the rift, and her easy acceptance of that in her reply. Further, she made a reasonable argument, but he still firmly believed that recruiting the Templars would be a better course of action.

            Leliana tore Cullen from her thoughts as she said, “Alexius, and these Venatori, will remain a threat, and a powerful one, unless we act.” Candlelight cast shadows across her features, grim but determined.

            Cassandra spoke then, turning directly to face Cullen. “We cannot accept defeat now. There must be a solution.”

            He exhaled sharply, grinding his teeth together. Silence washed over the war room, a stand-off to see who would speak first.

            Cullen forced himself to unclench his jaw, and said quietly, “We can’t take Redcliffe head-on. We would lose all of our men with no chance of victory. If you are set on this, you’ll have to find another way.”

            “Another way,” Lavellan repeated evenly, as if agreeing with him as she leaned forward and she rested her elbows on the war table. “That’s what we need. Another way in, so Alexius doesn’t see us coming. Other than the main gate, there has to be a different way inside. A sewer? A water course?”

            Cullen shook his head. It wasn’t a fortress for nothing. “There isn’t anything I know of that would work.”

            “Wait.” Leliana’s voice was sharp and she looked at the Herald, unclasping her hands. “There is a secret passageway into the castle. An escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

            “Too risky,” Cullen countered, trying to think strategically even through his frustration and pounding head. “Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the Magister.”

            “That’s why we need a distraction,” Leliana answered immediately, nodding to Lavellan. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

            Cullen mulled it over as he spoke. “Focus their attention on the Herald while we take out the Tevinters. It’s still risky, but it could work.”

            “I’ll take it,” the Herald straightened. “This is worth the risk.”

            The door swung open, and all heads jerked toward the sound. “Fortunately, you’ll have help.”

 

* * *

 

            “I’m fine, Addie,” Carson whined as Addison finished bandaging his leg and pulled the hem of his thin, fraying trousers back down.

            Addison hid a smile as Carson peered around her to where Lina and his sister were playing tag, running in circles around the hamlet. “I know you’re fine. This is the last time I’ll be checking in on your leg. Keep the bandage on for a couple more days to keep the salve in, and then you can take it off for good.”

            Carson hesitated now, looking back at Addison with his characteristic seriousness. “The last time? Are you not coming back?”

            Addison resealed the healing salve and put it in her bag. “Maybe not as often.”

            Carson nodded to himself, though his eyes were downcast as he played with a loose thread on his shirt. Addison reminded herself to ask the Inquisition if they had cloaks and coats to spare for the refugees in the hamlet. The weather was growing colder again, threatening to take spring away again.

            “Is everyone all better, then?” Carson asked quietly.

            Behind them, Eppie let out a squeal. Her arm had completely healed a week ago, leaving her to scamper around and cause havoc throughout the hamlet. “I think so,” Addison answered him. “Now it’s only your job to finish getting better,” she instructed with an exaggerated firmness to her tone.

            Carson’s legs, both initially burnt but one much worse than the other, were as recovered as they would be. The skin would be scarred permanently, but he was out of pain now. She’d noticed his limp lessening in the passing weeks.

            Carson studied the ground for a moment, ripping up a few pieces of grass while Addison waited for him to get up or to speak. He was oddly reserved for a boy of his age, but Addison supposed it made sense given his circumstances. And she never minded waiting for him to formulate what he wanted to say. After all, she was known for her quick temper yet few people knew how reserved she was with deeper feelings. It took her time to work up her courage to say anything personal, even to Rose.

            Seeming to have found the right words, Carson whispered, “What if the bad men come back?” He continued to pluck at the grass. “What if the bad men come back and you’re not here to make it better?”

            Addison tensed, the image of Carson’s village in smoldering heaps of ash still so vivid. “If the bad men come back, they’d be right on the Inquisition’s doorstep. The Commander would send his soldiers down to protect you, and I’d be right behind them.” Addison put a hand on Carson’s hair, gently smoothing down his curls. Addison felt the moment strange—she spoke as if she trusted the Inquisition to protect the people here. Stranger still, she actually found she believed it.

            “Do you promise?” Carson finally raised his head again to meet Addison’s eyes.

            Addison couldn’t look away, even as her thoughts jumped from this moment to before she left her parents in Denerim to return to the Crossroads. She’d promised them that she would be safe. The promise before had been made to Rose, the day Addison travelled to court and left home for the first time. She’d promised she’d come back if Rose ever needed her. The promise before that to Lina, they day she was born—that Addison would look after her. The promise before that to Alex.

            She had promised him that everything would be alright.

            Nothing had been alright.

            That’s why she could count on one hand the times she’d made promises since he’d died.

            “Promise, Addie?”

            Her thoughts jerked her back to the village hamlet, to where she sat with her legs tucked beneath her, Carson watching her with a heaviness that Addison could feel in her chest.

            “I promise.”

            Another shriek from Eppie made Carson blink suddenly, glancing over Addison’s shoulder again. “Can I go play?”

            Addison took a deep breath as she tried to shake the seriousness away from her. “Unless you want a final sip of my healing drafts—”

            “No!” Carson answered vehemently, his lip curling in disgust. “I told you, that stuff tastes terrible.”

            “Really?” Addison deadpanned. “It’s meant to taste like candy.”

            Carson immediately looked as if he was greatly affronted. “What kind of candy?”

            Addison leaned forward conspiratorially, and then let her smirk appear as she winked. “Dirt and old boots.”

            “That’s not candy!” Carson protested in offense. “And I won’t drink another one. I’m going to go play,” he informed Addison, jumping to his feet. The movement brought another smile to Addison’s face—the ease with which he moved had improved so much.

            With that, he ran to join Eppie and Lina, leaving Addison to adjust her bag on her shoulder and stand slowly, wincing at the way her knees creaked as she enviously watched the children scampering around the hamlet. _Andraste’s blood, when did I get so old?_

            She could almost hear her mother’s retort, informing Addison that she had no idea what old meant. For a moment, she let herself wonder how her parents were doing in Denerim, and how much they were worrying over her. She’d sent a letter at the Crossroads, and another once she’d moved to Haven. But she had no idea how secure the messenger’s routes were. It was possible her letters never made it to them.

            Eppie tackled Carson, though she was gentle and it was more of a hug that knocked the little boy off balance.

            Addison brushed off her skirts, knees covered in dirt. “Lina, we should be heading back soon,” she called.

            Lina, ever the peace-maker, was dragging Eppie, who was sitting on her brother as he squirmed, off of Carson. “Now?”

            “I have to work making potions today,” Addison explained, though the prospect was far from exciting.

            The hours of mixing and stirring didn’t bother her as much as the reason behind it. The Inquisition’s Ambassador had asked her to make healing poultices and potions for, and then deliver them to, that cult in the Hinterlands—the people who had retreated to an old castle when the rifts appeared to worship the giant hole in the sky.

            At least, that was before Ilara had visited them, convinced them not to be such idiots, and instructed them to help refugees.

            Addison had heard of the cultists originally at the Crossroads, and thought them rather useless then, too. If their first reaction to the explosion at the conclave was to sit and wait for the end of the world while ignoring people dying on their doorstep, Addison had very little patience for them.

            But in some strange attempt at strengthening the Inquisition’s ties with the cultists, Ambassador Montilyet arranged for a small Inquisition envoy with Addison included to bring supplies to the cult.

            Addison was to stay for a few days to help administer the potions to the refugees and then return to Haven within the week.

            And Addison had grudgingly agreed, mostly because she didn’t trust the cultists to help the refugees on their own, given their inclination to stupidity.

            “I’m coming!” Lina finished pulling Eppie away from Carson while Addison stopped her internal grumblings. Lina skipped over to Addison’s side. “Can we eat Flissa’s ram stew for lunch?”

            Addison tilted her head. “If she’s made it, then we can ask.” She looked over at Carson and Eppie, who were now watching the exchange.

            Addison had already said goodbye to the other villagers for the time being, and spoken to the old village leader about everyone’s recoveries. But with Carson and Eppie, Addison found she didn’t want to leave.

            “I… I’ll see you both later,” Addison said lamely, unsure of how to deal with her own feelings and the two sets of bright blue eyes that were clearly waiting for her to do something.

            “When are you coming back?” Eppie asked with a frown.

            “Not for a little while. But I’ll visit.”

            “You better,” Eppie answered immediately, with all the authority and impetuousness a seven year old could possibly contain.

            It surprised a laugh out of Addison, who immediately squatted down and opened her arms. Eppie ran into them, and Addison squeezed her gently before releasing her. Carson came more slowly, but clasped his hands behind Addison’s neck.

            “You promised,” he whispered to her.

            Addison nodded into his hug then stood, her knees not creaking this time, and Lina took her hand.

            “Goodbye,” Lina waved with her free hand, and Addison turned away from the brother and sister.

            She looked back once as they left the hamlet’s clearing and took the first steps on the dirt path. Eppie was already gone, probably off chasing bugs. Carson, however, was still watching them leave.

            Addison smiled, but she wasn’t sure if he could see it clearly.

            Lina chattered on the walk back, repeating stories that the dwarf told her.

            They were almost back to Haven when fat, slow snowflakes began to fall. Lina giggled in excitement while Addison groaned inwardly. Tomorrow morning she’d likely leave for the cultist compound in the snow. _Just lovely,_ Addison sighed to herself.

            She scanned the activities outside of Haven’s walls, looking in particular for a certain Inquisition commander.

            They’d made it a habit to stop when they saw each other. Even if it was a passing exchange of meaningless pleasantries, or if it was Addison asking about Cullen’s health or Cullen inquiring about Addison’s workload, it always left Addison in a slightly better mood.

            Now, she felt a flash of disappointment when she realized he wasn’t outside. _Maker, what’s happening to me?_ Addison scowled at herself as she entered Haven, going with Lina to the tavern.

            Addison only grabbed a bowl of stew before going to the apothecary.

            For the rest of the afternoon, she and Adan worked in amicable silence. They both had little patience for small talk, and were content to ignore each other, other than the occasional, “Where’d you put the deep mushrooms to dry?”

            It was snowing even into the afternoon and the evening, and Addison was glad to be inside, even if it was spending hours making the potions she’d be delivering to the cultists.

            Adan left about an hour after nightfall, and Addison was beginning to nod off where she stood in front of her workstation. She was barely keeping her eyes open when there was a gentle knock at the door followed by the hinges creaking. Cold wind immediately rushed into the cabin, making the candles flicker.

            “What is it?” Addison muttered as she turned, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand since her fingers were coated in dawn lotus dust.

            “Maker, Addie, you look awful!” It was Rose, who of course was leaving the door open to let all the frigid air inside.

            “Thanks for that kind observation. Are you going to close the door?” Addison grouched in response, returning to putting pinches of dawn lotus into the vials of more potent healing poultices.

            Rose shuffled inside, finally shutting the door. “I didn’t mean it like that. You just seem exhausted.” She came to peer over Addison’s shoulder as Addison began pouring the mixture into bottles. “Can I help?”

            Addison nodded at the little box of corks sitting on the shelf between her and Adan’s workstations. “Just grab that box, please.”

            Rose placed it on the edge of Addison’s table, then took the bottles Addison had already finished filling and sealed them.

            “Thank you.” Addison said quietly, grateful for the help she needed but hadn’t asked for. Rose could be oblivious to most things, but their years of friendship had given them an unspoken knowledge of the other’s weaknesses and oddities. So Rose knew Addison rarely asked for help. Instead, Rose offered her help wordlessly.

            “Not a problem.” Rose gave her a small smile as they worked in tandem, Addison humming under her breath.

            They finished quickly, loading the bottles up in a crate that Addison would need to move to a wagon in the morning.

            Addison sighed, wiping her hands off on a rag before tossing it in the ‘needs to be washed’ basket along with her measuring equipment and mixing bowls. “Are you all finished up at the tavern?”

            Rose shook her head. “Not yet, but I came to see if you wanted to eat dinner there.”

            Addison stared at Rose blankly. “I’m tired.”

            “It’ll just be a quick meal.”

            “I have to get up early tomorrow morning.”

            “It’s not that late.”

            “I’m not all that hungry.”

            “You’re getting too thin.”

            “Am not.”

            “Are too.”

            Addison glared for a few moments before sighing. “Fine.”

            Rose smiled impishly before looping her arm through Addison’s. “Come on, I made bread with a dash of cinnamon and hid a few pieces for you.”

            Addison leaned down to rest her cheek on the top of Rose’s head. Being tall had a few advantages—like making friends into headrests. “You’re my favorite baker in all of Thedas.”

            Rose laughed as they left the cabin, Addison still leaning on her lazily. “That’s high praise, coming from the girl who lived at court. Didn’t you say the best part of it all was the food?”

            Addison straightened so she could shrug. “Even the food couldn’t convince me to stay in Denerim. I had to go all the way back to the Crossroads for your pastries.”

            They were a few steps from the tavern and Addison could hear how obviously crowded it was. Rose practically pushed Addison inside.

            It was warm, and smelled delicious.

            The positives ended there.

            Every table was crowded. In fact, it was so full that people were standing along the walls. It was also bloody loud, and filled with faces Addison either recognized just enough for it to be awkward if she didn’t acknowledge them, or faces she’d never seen before at all.

            “Rose? I’m just going to head out n—”

            “None of that, Addie. Just find somewhere to sit and I’ll bring out something for you to—Oh, shit.” Rose smacked her forehead. “I forgot I had that potato soup at a boil.”

            Rose disappeared, weaving toward the counter Flissa stood behind.

            Rhys and Lina would already be in bed, Sister Maren watching over them until Rose and Adidson returned for the night.

            And unfortunately, Rhys, Lina, and Sister Maren were three of the people in Haven that Addison spent the most time with, other than Rose and Adan.

            _Adan! Please be here, please be here._ Addison searched the room, hoping for once to see the grumpy apothecary.

            Instead, she found Cullen. He was standing at the very back of the tavern with a tankard in his hand, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Addison felt.

            Relief washed over her as she squeezed her way toward him, catching the back of a chair with her hip and wincing.

            She was a table away when Cullen caught her eye, and blinked in surprise. “Addison?”

            His voice was barely audible over the semi-drunken rumble of the tavern. “You have no idea how bloody glad I am to see you right now,” Addison said as she reached his side.

            It was then that she noticed the dwarf, Varric, leaning against the wall next to Cullen, a grin on his face. “Look at that, Curly. You _do_ have a friend.”

            Addison felt her eyebrows pull together as Cullen’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Varric, this isn’t necessary. I have work I need to—”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Varric waved his own mug nonchalantly. “You’re overworked as it is. It’s obvious you had a rough day, so just take some time to relax tonight.”

            Cullen glared at the side of Varric’s head.

            “Did you get dragged here against your will, too?” Addison asked, beginning to understand Cullen’s presence.

            Cullen’s expression was grim as he nodded. “Apparently Varric was concerned about my ‘lack of fun’.”

            Varric gave Addison an easy grin. “Mostly what it was doing to your appearance. You brood that much, Curly, and your face is going to get stuck like that.”

            Addison couldn’t hide her snort at the comment, and Cullen gave her a look of betrayal.

            “We haven’t been formally introduced, have we?” Varric asked Addison. His voice was smooth, and Addison wondered if she actually thought him suave. “Varric Tethras, at your service.”

            “Addison Mare.”

            “The apothecary, right? Also the beautiful woman who refused to sing for us last week.” He winked.

            Addison mouth parted as she gaped at him unintelligently. Was he… was he _flirting_ with her? He couldn’t be. She’d heard him say similar things to Rose—a flatterer, then. She recovered quickly with a brisk, “More accurately, the woman who makes potions that keep you alive and kicking.”

            Varric chuckled good-naturedly. “That, too. There’s a table opening up over there. Let’s go sit.”

            “Actually, I think I’d best—”

            “Curly.”

            Cullen made a noise of annoyance that sounded more like a growl than anything else, and followed Varric to the middle of the room with Addison right behind him.

            Addison sat beside Cullen, the dwarf across from them with a sly smirk playing on his broad mouth.

            “Rose brought me here, as well,” Addison muttered, leaning in closer to Cullen. “If you want to make a break for it, give me the count of three and we’ll both run for it.”

            Cullen angled his lips toward her ear, “What’s the best escape route? The back door, or the one closest to the bar?”

            His arm was brushing against Addison’s, and she could practically feel her pathetic pulse jump. “Back door,” Addison whispered.

            A plate appeared in front of Addison’s nose, and she turned to see Flissa. “Rose told me you wanted some of the bread?”

            Addison’s mouth was already watering at the smell. “Thank you, Flissa,” she said almost reverently, taking the plate.

            “Anything to drink?”

            “No, thank you,” Addison replied, waving as Flissa left. She turned her attention to the pile of bread on her plate and immediately began to shovel a slice into her mouth.

            “You didn’t even come here to drink?” Varric’s incredulous voice cut through the cinnamon haze.

            Addison shook her head, mouth still full. She pointed to the bread and made a gesture for Varric and Cullen to try it.

            After swallowing, she explained it was Rose’s creation, which started a slew of questions from Varric. How long had she known Rose? Why did they come to Haven? When did she become an apothecary?

            Varric then insisted on ordering them all ale, and Addison accepted. There was something easy about Varric’s presence that she appreciated, even if she didn’t quite understand it. The dwarf was damn _smooth_.

            Cullen then began asking her questions too, and Addison responded with her own. She learned that Cullen grew up in Honnleath, and he learned that she had spent most of her life at the Crossroads until she moved to Denerim.

            While he had joined the Order at thirteen, Addison hadn’t begun training with the village healer until she was sixteen. She admitted, blushing slightly, that she’d wanted to be a minstrel up until that point.

            Cullen had always wanted a mabari, but Addison was content with her family’s cat.

            “Are you sure you’re Ferelden?” Varric asked with a laugh, setting his mug down on the table. “Most of the Fereldens I’ve met have _dreams_ about mabari.”

            “Maybe I’m not Ferelden enough,” Addison snorted, feeling slightly warm from her drink. “My mother’s from Starkhaven, after all.”

            “But you grew up here,” Cullen replied. He’d relaxed a great deal, an easy smile on his face as he rested his left forearm on the table. “Next you’ll be saying you hate the cold.”

            Addison covered her face with her hands. “But I do hate the cold!”

            “What did I tell you, Curly? She’s not Ferelden after all.” Varric shook his head as he finished off the contents of his tankard. “Then again, Hawke hated the cold, too. We had a massive blizzard one year in Kirkwall—you might remember it, Curly—and Hawke… Well, it’s quite a story.”

            Varric wove the tale carefully, and Addison noticed the audience he was drawing in from other tables. The tavern quieted as more and more people began listening.

            Addison, however, felt the exhaustion hitting her again. Varric had finished telling his story, but people were asking questions now. About Hawke, about her lover, about her friends.

            Addison rubbed her eyes with one hand and hid a yawn with another.

            “On the count of three?”

            It was Cullen’s voice in her ear again, and Addison nodded sleepily. “Three,” she mumbled, getting to her feet.

            She wasn’t a lightweight in the slightest, but exhaustion made her steps heavy as she and Cullen left the tavern.

            The snow was falling more thickly as they stepped outside, and Addison wrinkled her nose at the dark sky. “Bloody weather. Do you think it’s warmer in Starkhaven? I might look into moving there.”

            Cullen’s chuckle was light as they both stopped only a few steps away from the tavern, aware that Cullen needed to head back to his tent outside the walls and Addison’s cabin was just across Haven. “I’m sorry Varric dragged you into a longer night than you expected.”

            Addison shook her head, finding that her lips were curled up in the corners and her eyes closing and opening slowly. Despite the chill biting her cheeks, she felt warm underneath her cloak—a kind of lazy contentment. “I’m not.”

            “I was grateful for your company,” Cullen said, then cleared his throat. “I—ah—Varric clearly enjoyed himself.”

            Addison’s thought process was moving entirely too slowly, sleepiness taking over. “It was fun. I don’t remember the last time I did something fun.” She could tell her words were slightly slurred as a rather cold snowflake landed on her nose.

            “That makes two of us,” Cullen answered, though Addison was beginning to actually fall asleep on her feet as she swayed slightly. Cullen stepped forward to grab her arm, steadying her. “Are you alright?”

            “Mhmm. Sorry.” Addison righted herself again, embarrassment waking her up.

            Cullen still held her in place, his face tilting down to hers. She could feel the faintest warmth of his breath fanning across her nose, smelling like cinnamon and the spices from the ale.

            Addison froze, eyes angled up to meet Cullen’s as the moment seemed to stretch on in the silent snowfall.

            “I—ah—I didn’t mean to keep you,” Cullen said quickly, letting go of Addison and stepping back, the strange warmth running over Addison’s arms disappearing.

            She shivered in the cold now, ducking her head to hide any evidence of her burning face. “No, you didn’t—I mean, you’re not keeping me.” Addison cringed at her own words. “I’ll just… Goodnight.”

            “Goodnight.”

            She spun on her heel and took off at almost a run as she pressed icy hands to her cheeks. _Andraste’s knickers, this is ridiculous_ , Addison berated herself. She was truly in over her head. He was the commander of the Inquisition—one that she initially thought impossible, arrogant, and entitled.

            There must be something wrong with her head.

            Maybe going to the cultist compound and being gone from Haven for a week wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could be alternatively titled "The Frickin' Chapter I Re-Wrote 12 Times".  
> Sadly, not a joke.   
> As always, thanks for your patience with my slow updates. <3


	10. Casting Blame

            “You’re pulling my leg,” Remmy muttered.

            “And why would I do that?” Gerta asked innocently.

            “Because you’re… because you… Maker, is she really married? You’re not just jealous?”

            “Jealous? And why in Andraste’s blessed name would I be jealous?” Gerta laughed.

            Addison, hunched over on the wagon’s driver seat beside Gerta, glared at Remmy, who was on horseback keeping pace with them so he could argue face-to-face with Gerta.

            “Can’t you have your lovers quarrel when it’s not so bloody early?” Addison griped, pulling her cloak closer around her face.

            It wasn’t snowing at the moment, but the ground was covered in a blanket of white and it was too cold, in Addison’s grouchy opinion, for living things to be outside. But they were on the last leg of their travel, and should reach Haven before sundown since they left their camp at the break of dawn.

            “Lovers quarrel?” Remmy gave Addison a scathing look.

            Gerta simply smirked while Addison groaned and buried her face in her hands. Remmy continued to protest, but Addison ignored him.

            Gerta, for whatever Maker forsaken reason, seemed to find Remmy’s antics amusing.

            Addison, at the very least, had grown accustomed to their bickering in the last week through their time traveling to the cultist compound and at the compound itself.

            After a few more minutes Gerta and Remmy must’ve decided to call a temporary truce, and Addison finally looked up from her hands and rubbed her eyes.

            “Feeling alright?” Gerta asked kindly.

            Addison sniffed, then nodded. “I thought that the weather would be warmer by now.”

            Gerta patted Addison’s arm. “It’s not yet mid-spring. Don’t rush the seasons.”

            “Right. Be polite to the weather,” Addison grumbled under her breath.

            Gerta simply chuckled in response.

            They rode in amicable silence, Remmy and his horse a few paces ahead. Addison slipped in and out of sleep, the wagon jostling over the icy path, causing her head to jerk whenever she had just started napping.

            Her time at the cultist compound had been easy enough, and she’d been able to help with some of the sick and injured refugees. She even put her training with Sister Maren to use, stitching up a wound that she’d had to re-open in order to properly disinfect. She’d been moderately queasy at the time, but she’d done it neatly all the same.

            Something colder than the rest of the air hit Addison’s nose, and she tilted her face up to the sky.

            “Snowing again,” Addison made a face as the flakes grew thicker in the gray light. “That’s it. After this is all over I’m moving to Starkhaven.”

            “To get out of the snow? It’s better to go to Antiva, then,” Gerta advised, seeming perfectly content in the foul weather. “I’ve heard Antiva City is warm, and the flowers are always in bloom.”

            “Antiva City it is,” Addison decided with a shiver, wrinkling her nose.

            Remmy slowed his horse as he fell back to say, “Are we stopping soon? It’s nearly midday.”

            Addison had no idea how he could tell what time it was with the sun completely hidden, and Gerta seemed to think the same.

            The scout squinted at the clouds. “Is it really midday, or are you just hungry again?”

            Remmy scowled. “It’s past midday. If it’s not frozen, there should be a stream to our right. Are you a scout or not? No sense of time.” He threw the last bit over his shoulder as he led his horse off the path.

            Gerta rolled her eyes as she clicked her tongue and tugged on the reigns. The wagon jostled, and Addison grabbed the edge of the wooden seat to keep from pitching over. Her fingers were numb despite the gloves Rose had given her for the journey, and she winced as dull pain throbbed through the tingling feeling returning to them.

            The trees were growing thicker, but Addison could see bits of the stream up ahead. Gerta stopped the wagon, unable to fit amongst the trees, and Addison clambered off the driver’s seat and patted the horse’s neck absently.

            Remmy had already dismounted, and was going through his pack. The bread the cultist’s had packed for them ran out the night before, thanks to Remmy’s insatiable appetite, but there were still a few apples left, along with dried meat.

            They began to eat, sitting on a snow-covered fallen tree, only for Remmy to start an argument about Gerta taking the best apple first.

            Shaking her head, Addison shoveled food into her mouth to finish quickly.

            She brushed the snow off her cloak as she stood and left the scout and the soldier to their verbal sparring.

            Addison pulled her canteen out from her bag as she tramped to the stream, pushing past branches to do so. She could still hear Gerta’s easy laugh and Remmy’s pitch rising as he worked himself into another rant.

            The stream was unfrozen, deep although narrow. Addison squatted beside it to refill her canteen, wincing when cold water splashed on her hand, soaking through the glove.

            _I should’ve kept some cold resistance tonics,_ Addison grumbled to herself as she sealed off the canteen and shoved it back inside her bag.

            Straightening, she adjusted the hood of her cloak. As she tugged at the fabric, a glint of silver caught her eye upstream.

            On the opposite bank several paces away, there was a shield.

            At least, it looked like a shield with a layer of snow on top covering up the heraldry and tucked partly under a fir tree.

            Addison frowned at it, eyes narrowing as she scanned the thick line of trees. She took a giant step over the stream, her arms flailing a bit to keep her balance.

            Ungracefully making it to the other side, Addison stomped over, brushing snow from the rounded metal.

            The engraving was of a sword, symmetrical lines of flame around it etched into the shield.

            _Rogue Templars?_ Addison scratched the back of her head through the thick layer of hair. Why would they leave behind a shield?

            Addison stepped around the tree that the shield rested underneath, only to freeze, sucking in a sharp breath of surprise.

            There were bodies. Four Templars and two others. Yet the others had to be mages, one still clutching a staff, her pale blue shirt stained with blood.

            Addison stared at them for a moment before kneeling beside the closest mage, fingers moving to the woman’s neck.

            No pulse.

            “Gerta!” Addison called as crawled to the next body in the snow. “Remmy!”

            The next body was a Templar with a hole in his side, burn marks on his armor. He was still wearing his helmet, and Addison yanked it off before checking his pulse as well. Nothing.

            Addison moved unthinkingly to the next person, another Templar. His eyes were open, staring up at her emptily.

            _Dead, then._

Addison crawled to the next body, making it to the mage’s side just as she heard a low growl behind her.

            Hand outstretched to the woman’s neck, Addison froze.

            Her first panicked thought was that an animal had approached. But it was a guttural noise that followed, completely unlike any animal Addison had ever heard. The sound crackled, and Addison’s eyes widened in fear.

            Still kneeling on the ground, Addison turned her head slowly over her shoulder, breath stuck somewhere in her lungs and her heart stuttering in her chest.

            She recognized it instantly.

            Skin burnt the color of charcoal, stretched over what once was a human body, hobbled and gray, melted and misshapen—

            _Alex._

Addison’s mouth opened, but it was a silent scream, as she couldn’t find the air to make a sound.

            The abomination advanced on her now, only making a guttural snarl as it moved inhumanly over snow-covered brambles, no footsteps crunching or catching on brambles. It came toward her slowly, as if she were prey.

            Her hands were shaking as she reached for the little knife on her belt.

            “Addison?”

            It was Gerta’s voice, and the abomination’s disfigured head jerked toward the stream.

            Addison scrambled to her feet, but the motion claimed the abomination’s attention once again. “Here!”

            The abomination snarled at Addison, loud enough to be a roar. Almost as if breaking her silence had ended the abomination’s slow advance, it charged.

            Addison yanked her knife free, blood roaring in her ears.

            There was a thud of impact, followed by the abomination’s furious hiss. An arrow stuck out from the abomination’s grizzled side.

            Someone was shouting her name, and Remmy came charging in front of her, sword drawn as he hacked at the abomination, slicing through the marred skin. Remmy put himself between Addison and the abomination, shielding her from it.

            Another arrow flew at the abomination, and it seemed to sink into the ground, crumpling over in a heap.

            Remmy gave a wordless shout, plunging his sword through its bowed form.

            For a moment, Addison felt the world stop. She could hear Remmy’s heavy pants and see the abomination fall. But she wasn’t there. She was somewhere else— somewhere far away. Somewhere from eleven years ago.

            “Get back, both of you.”

            Addison hardly registered her words, and Remmy darted backward before he grabbed Addison’s arm and yanked her to his side.

            The abomination burst into flames before them, brilliant heat and the terrible smell of burning flesh washing over Addison as it turned into a pile of ash.

            Addison stared as foul air returned to her lungs, rushing back painfully as she tried taking it in too quickly.

            “Are you hurt?”

            Addison wasn’t sure who asked, the voice distorted as she watched snow fall onto the black ash—the remains of the mage turned abomination.

            _Alex—a pile of ashes and no body to take home._

He’d screamed. He’d screamed until he started writhing, twisting and begging the Templars just to let him go.

            _The Templars,_ Addison thought as her stomach rolled.

            “Addison.” Remmy was talking to her, pale brown irises and a freckled face coming into focus as her vision cleared. “You can put the knife away. You’re safe now.”

            Remmy’s hand was on her wrist, though she blinked at her appendage before realizing it was her own. She lowered the knife slowly, her hands shaking.

            “I think she’s just in shock,” Remmy said.

            “I’m fine.” Addison shook off his hold on her with a shudder.

            Gerta stepped forward, an arrow still notched in her bow. “You should sit down.”

            “I said I’m fine,” Addison snapped, though she felt her shoulders cave as she hunched over into herself. She caught the look Remmy and Gerta exchanged, and she shoved the knife back into its sheath on her belt. Addison jerked her head at the corpses that lay around them. “I was checking for survivors. They’re all dead.”

            She could still feel Remmy watching her, but Gerta put her arrow back in her quiver. “It must’ve been a fight between the rogue Templars and apostates, with a mage turning into that thing and killing them all.”

            Addison’s stomach rolled again as she tried to swallow the feeling. “Probably.” She made an effort to stand straighter, despite the nausea coming in waves. “Thanks for coming when you did,” she said in a low voice. “Let’s just get going.”

            Her legs were weights as she brushed past Remmy, moving toward the stream.

            She sat in silence for the following hours, staring ahead though her pulse never seemed to slow. She could feel something building inside with every heartbeat, something frantic, but she curled her hands into fists on the bumpy road and fought it.

            After years of nightmares, after years of it haunting her dreams, she’d seen her second abomination. Another one that the Templars had created.

            At least, this time, it hadn’t been her brother.

* * *

 

             “Do you wish you had accompanied them, Commander?”

            The polite voice made Cullen’s head jerk in its direction, finding Solas standing beside him, hands clasped behind his back.

            It was obvious to whom Solas was referring, particularly with Cullen staring off into the direction the Herald had left at dawn. The sky was darkening now, the snow clouds from early in the day dissipating.

            “Yes. But it would no doubt raise suspicions with Alexius if I went with them.” Cullen rubbed his free hand over his jaw, the other still grasping the report he needed to read.

            “You feel ill at ease.”

            Cullen sighed. “I think we all do.” He’d decided to let the recruits have the afternoon off, but found that it had only made his worrying worsen.

            “Yet the Herald is a remarkable woman, and Leliana resourceful. I trust that they will see this through,” Solas said quietly.

            Cullen shook his head. “Yet then we have to deal with everything after. If the rebel mages are taken into the Inquisition, there will have to be certain…” He decided not to finish his sentence, given that he was currently talking to an apostate.

            Solas, however, continued to wait for Cullen to finish speaking with a neutral expression.

            “It could be dangerous.” Cullen concluded gruffly, glancing back down at his report. “And we still have no guarantees on how it will effect the breach.”

            Solas smiled slightly. “Is it the breach that causes you to doubt, or is the true issue more personal with having rebel mages join the Inquisition ranks?”

            Cullen’s eyes hardened. He had no time for word games. “Both are concerns because both address the safety of Haven and the safety of Thedas.”

            “I see.” Solas replied, though it was clear the elf disagreed with Cullen from the curl of his upper lip. Cullen might not be excellent at reading expressions, but Solas made no attempt to hide his thoughts regarding Cullen’s statement. “But you have brought more Templars into Haven.”

            The Templars from nearby circles had finally arrived over the past few days. It was true that Cullen had relaxed slightly now regarding the mages that Lavellan would try to recruit. But it also meant that he could smell the lyrium on some of them, making his headaches worse. And he had to remind them time and time again that he was not Knight-Captain here.

            Those concerns, however, Cullen would not share with Solas.

            “Yes. I’m glad for their presence.” Cullen replied, ready for the conversation to end.

            Solas fixed a cold and clearly judgmental gaze on Cullen. “Though whether they will raise tensions or pacify fears remains to be seen.”

            Cullen glared at the elf as he tucked his report from the Storm Coast into his coat. “If you approached me to discuss the Templars, I will not ask them to leave Haven in some attempt to cater to the apostates here.”

            Solas frowned at him. “When have you ever _catered_ to apostates, Commander? Your mistrust has always been exceedingly clear.”

            “They’re back!”

            Cullen and Solas both turned. In the dim light, Cullen could make out a wagon rolling up the hill toward the gates. It should be Addison, Schum, and Foster returning from the cultist compound.

            “I have work to do,” Cullen said tersely as he looked at Solas again.

            Solas inclined his head slightly. “Goodbye.”

            Cullen clenched his jaw as he turned away from the elf, walking toward the wagon. While Solas was undeniably helpful regarding the breach, Cullen went from quietly respecting him to angrily tolerating him, depending on the day.

            A few of his soldiers came forward to speak with Foster, clapping him on the back.

            Schum let Addison off and then clicked to the horses before turning toward the stables.

            “Foster—report.” Cullen ordered.

            The young man jumped to at attention. “All deliveries made to the cultist compound. Only one incident on the return trip, with an abomination attack today.”

            Cullen’s line of sight immediately drew to Addison, where she was walking slowly toward the gates. “Any injuries?”

            “None.”

            “At ease, Foster. You have the night to yourself.”

            “Yes, Ser!”

            Cullen glanced over at Addison again before deciding to catch up with her. After nodding to Foster and the other soldiers, he turned and hurried toward Addison.

            He reached her side just through the main gates, though she didn’t even acknowledge that he was walking with her now. “Addison.”

            The apothecary stopped suddenly, her brow furrowing as she looked at Cullen. Oddly, it seemed to take her a moment to recognize him. When she did, her expression relaxed slightly. “Oh. Cullen.”

            She clearly wasn’t herself. “Are you feeling alright?”

            “Yes, I’m fine.” Her lips parted as she wrapped her arms around herself.

            Cullen took in the gesture, as well as the faraway look in her eyes. Foster had said she wasn’t injured, but— “Were you hurt today?” It made him inexplicably anxious as he searched her face. Given that their last interaction before they left was him fumbling at unexpected physical closeness, he wasn’t sure what is own feelings toward the woman were. But he knew in this moment he was worried for her.

            “What?” She asked again.

            Her usual fire was gone, as was the coldness that implied she was angry or indifferent. “The abomination,” Cullen clarified, his concern growing.

            He found his answer there as she flinched slightly at the word. “I’m fine.” Addison said again, though she was clearly not.

            “You might still be in shock,” Cullen murmured, knowing exactly how unpleasant abominations were.

            “I’m not,” Addison replied quietly, but every bit as stubbornly. “I’m fine, Cullen.”

            The torches mounted along the wall did a poor job of illuminating the area, casting strange shadows across Addison’s face.

            Cullen let out a slow breath. She clearly wasn’t fine, but Cullen didn’t know how to argue about her feelings. He cleared his throat. “At any rate, you will encounter no abominations any time soon. We finally received Templars from neighboring circles, so should anything happen—”

            “The Templars arrived?”

            Cullen blinked at her sudden interjection. “Yes, over the last few days.” He watched as she reached to push hair away from her face as she shook her head. Perhaps she was thinking of her brother? “None of them are from Kinloch Hold, if that is—”

            “No. No, we still have mages in Haven.” Addison said quickly, more loudly now.

            “I know,” Cullen answered, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. Why was she so agitated? “The Templars will ensure Haven’s safety.”

            “No. No, they shouldn’t be here. This makes everything more dangerous.” Addison was…

            _Is she angry now?_ Cullen watched her incredulously. Though people in shock were bound to be more anxious and quick to anger, he wasn’t sure where she was getting this idea. “I only brought it up because the Templars will be able to watch the mages. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

            “The Templars have never just watched the mages.” Addison shook her head. “If there weren’t Templars, there wouldn’t have _been_ an abomination today.”

            Cullen ran a hand over his jaw, completely at a loss. “I—ah—I don’t understand. The Templars—”

            “Yes, the Templars!” Something snapped. Cullen could feel it in the way her tone grew tight, and he could see it in the way her eyes shining wetly in the torchlight. “They hound the mages, they hunt them, they cause them to fear and then they turn into those—those things. The Templars create them—the whole damn chantry creates them!”

            A mixture of confusion, concern, and anger churned around inside Cullen as he struggled to make sense of Addison’s words. “I think you misunderstand—”

            “I don’t misunderstand. How many mages did you hunt? How many families did you separate, how many children did you terrify?” Addison’s words ripped into him, and she was seething. “You would’ve been in Kinloch Hold when the circle fell. It’s you who refuses to understand.”

            Cullen felt the blood drain from his face at the mention of Kinloch Hold. “Don’t.”

            “Don’t what?” Addison hissed, her face contorted with rage. “Don’t make a damn Templar own up to what he’s done?”

            “Don’t pretend you know _anything_ ,” Cullen growled as he leaned toward her, “about Kinloch Hold, or about abominations.”

            Addison laughed once, the sound colder than the mountain air around them. “Of course. What would I know of either.” She turned away from him then, stalking away into the night.

            Cullen stared after her, fuming as his hands shook—though he wasn’t sure if it was anger or lyrium. His head pounded, but worse were the unwanted images playing yet again inside his skull.


	11. Avoiding the Issues

            Cullen set the report down on the war table, using a gloved hand to rub across his jaw, doing his best to ignore the trembling of his fingers inside the leather.

            The words on the page blurred in and out of focus, but he’d managed to read most of it before his vision began sliding again. Though the Herald had done her best to take care of the darkspawn along the Storm Coast several weeks ago, there were still sightings and attacks on travellers.

            While he wanted to send out a patrol, the camps were all being held with minimal forces. He would have to send a group from Skyhold, which would pull from the limited resources available to the Inquisition at the moment.

            Cullen sighed deeply, the sound shaky in the quiet room, as he moved the report to his ‘needs discussion’ pile. Perhaps Leliana’s scouts would be more effective in—

            A sharp knock on the door to the war room pulled him from his plans and made him flinch with the noise, painful to his already pounding skull.

            “Come in,” Cullen called, his voice seeming raw even to him.

            He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept.

            He knew, reasonably, all he needed to do was find Addison and ask for a potion.

            Reason, however, was currently outweighed in an internal battle with pride and discomfort. Cullen had never asked Addison for potions before, because she usually left them for him with a note. Since their tense encounter regarding abominations almost a week and a half before, they had avoided each other religiously. It wasn’t exactly childish, considering they would nod to each other if they were in proximity, but their conversations and friendly greetings were no longer a regular occurrence.

            No matter how much he thought about it, and to his annoyance he thought about it often, he didn’t understand her.

            But he had enough to deal with outside of impossible apothecaries, which he was reminded of as the door opened and Thirrin entered. “Commander.” She saluted sharply, her fist against her breastplate.

            “A report?” Cullen asked, eyeing the stacks of paper lying before him as his vision cleard slightly.

            “A message from the Lady Montilyet. The Herald has been sighted approaching Haven with the mages from Redcliffe. They should be arriving in the next half hour, and Lady Montilyet, er—” Thirrin scratched the back of her head. “Requests your presence.”

            Cullen laughed once, the sound humorless. Maker, it hurt his head to laugh. “I’m sure it was closer to an order.”

            Thirrin gave Cullen an uneven grin. “It was, Ser.”

            “I’m sure that’s why she sent you,” Cullen muttered, to which Thirrin nodded in amicable agreement. Thirrin was one of his top officers, and usually not one to be delivering messages. Josephine had probably sent her so Cullen couldn’t dismiss her easily if he refused to go. “No need to worry, I’ll be out there soon enough.”

            “She’ll be pleased to hear it, Ser,” Thirrin replied, saluting again before leaving Cullen alone in the war room, the door swinging shut before her with another painful thud.

            Cullen stared down at the reports, recalling the message he’d received from Cassandra after the Herald’s encounter with Alexius at Redcliffe. While Cassandra had written in her disciplined manner, it was clear that she was displeased with the Herald’s decision to ally the Inquisition with the mages in a partnership, and worried about the future the Herald saw through whatever bizarre time jump Alexius had sent her through.

            Cullen gathered up the reports, his eyes narrowing against the persistent pain. He wouldn’t be able to get any more work done with his growing migraine and concerns about this dangerous mage alliance occupying his thoughts.

            Cullen left the chantry quickly, feet crunching over frosty grass. The sun was covered by clouds, though it should be high in the sky, marking midday. Sometimes, walks would make him feel more energized, but now movement just made him feel unsteady. His hands curled into fists, though his fingers were oddly numb.

            He passed Josephine and Leliana at the main gates, informing them quietly that he would be back in a moment’s time. He could practically feel Leliana’s eyes boring into him as he walked toward his tent.

            He deposited the reports on top of his blanket, the meek throwing motion taking him down with it as he collapsed on the edge the cot. His breathing was too loud, echoing around him.

            Cullen squeezed his eyes shut, willing some of the pain to go away. He could feel sweat streaking down the back of his neck, but without feeling particularly warm or cold, he shivered.

            _Maker preserve me,_ Cullen thought over the rasp of his lungs.

            He needed to sleep, but he never could. Not with the nightmares that seemed to only grow worse these days.

            No, he needed lyrium.

            He ground his teeth together against the thought and stood, nearly losing his balance again.

            He needed to work.

            Cullen took a moment to stand and pry his eyes open to see the barren tent come back into his sight before he returned to the gates, one foot in front of the other.

            He then stood beside Leliana, pointedly not looking at her though she was clearly scrutinizing him.

            “Thank you for joining us, Commander,” Josephine offered from Leliana’s other side.

            “I wasn’t aware I had much of a choice,” Cullen answered tersely. “At any rate, it will be good to see what we’re dealing with here.”

            “This is a partnership, Cullen,” Leliana said. “We are not ‘dealing’ with anyone in that sense.”

            “We’ll see about that,” Cullen replied. He was still waiting for Cassandra to return in hopes that together, they could convince the others that this ‘alliance’ with the mages would only lead down dangerous roads.

            He could see figures in the distance, and watched them as Leliana and Josephine discussed the accommodations they were providing for the mages, which included tents the Inquisition set up in a nearby clearing, beside an abandoned cabin.

            After a minute, Cullen could make out the Herald at the front of the group, Cassandra and Grand Enchanter Fiona leading with her. Lavellan was laughing, using her staff as a walking stick, as she trudged up the hill to Haven.

            Josephine stepped forward, but Cullen and Leliana remained where they stood. Cullen was observing the mages that followed, and he was sure Leliana was doing the same.

            “Welcome to Haven,” Josephine called, her voice clear and steady. Cullen tried not to wince at the volume that drove a sharp blow through his head. “The Inquisition greets you with open arms.”

            “You have our gratitude, Ambassador,” Grand Enchanter Fiona answered, loud enough for the line of mages following her to hear. She must have met Josephine before to know who she was, or perhaps Lavellan told her as they approached.

            The Grand Enchanter came to a stop in front of the gates while Cassandra met Cullen’s eyes. Cullen could see his own frustration and apprehension with the situation mirrored in them, a grimness to their acknowledgment of each other.

            “And we are most grateful to you, Grand Enchanter, for your future assistance in closing the breach,” Josephine said, bowing her head. “I would like to introduce to you to Commander Rutherford and Lady Leliana, who will be coordinating with you regarding our plans on the breach. But there will be time for that later. I imagine you must be exhausted from your travels, and we have prepared accommodations for you. I apologize for their humbleness, but all of our resources are currently going toward efforts to close the breach.”

            Cullen stared ahead, frowning deeply. Of course Josephine had merely wanted his presence so she could emphasize how they would be working together. It was utterly unnecessary, but most of Josphine’s diplomacy was like that.

            As Josephine beckoned her assistants forward to take the mages to the encampment, Lavellan made her way to Cullen with Cassandra, the Tevinter mage, and Blackwall behind her.

            “It looks like everything is going smoothly here,” the Herald said lightly, looking at Cullen questioningly.

            “As smoothly as it can be,” Cullen crossed his arms, his jaw tight. “We need to discuss your agreement with the mages, Herald.”

            Lavellan rubbed the bridge of her nose, expression resigned. “Yes, Cassandra said that as well.”

            Josephine appeared behind Lavellan’s shoulder, her assistants taking over for her as the mages followed them away from the gates. The Grand Enchanter went with them, though Cullen could see her glancing back at them.

            “We’ll need to move forward with our plans as soon as possible,” Leliana said quietly. “Come, let’s convene in the chantry.”

            “I’ll drop off my things and meet you there shortly,” the Herald nodded. “Blackwall, Dorian, Singing Maiden for lunch?” She left then, still leaning against her staff as she entered the gates.

            Cassandra sighed impatiently as Blackwall and Dorian headed away as well. “Before you say anything, Cullen, I did try. But Ilara acted as the face of the Inquisition at Redcliffe. We gave her the responsibility, and I followed her lead.”

            “Cassandra,” Leliana said sharply, her eyes sweeping over the area, to the recruits standing nearby. “Chantry.”

            Cassandra made a low sound of annoyance in her throat, but the four of them walked back into Haven, heading back to the chantry in stony silence.

            Once they pushed the doors open, the argument began.

 

* * *

 

            Addison had not expected to walk out of the apothecary cabin and find half of the mages in Thedas milling about.

            Perhaps that was a slight exaggeration, but it left Addison jumpy all the same. Most of them wore scared or surly expressions, which only made her more concerned. The Templars were watching as well.

            It was only two nights ago that she’d stopped dreaming of the abomination she’d nearly been killed by during her return to Haven.

            She’d heard word earlier in the week that Ilara was bringing the mages back to Haven, and had since been dreading it. Now, as she accepted a delivery of herbs outside of the smithy, she couldn’t stop watching the newly arrived mages with a sick dread that had settled like stones in her stomach since the week before.

            The Templars that joined the Inquisition earlier were keeping a close eye on the mages as well, but that made it all worse. She’d tried to tell Cullen—

            _Cullen._ Addison cringed as she finished checking the boxes. While she didn’t regret anything that she’d said for the content, she knew that she’d been nearly hysterical. And while she was still angry at his arrogance and his ignorance, she was frustrated with herself for losing her composure. Getting angry was one thing, but nearly crying was another entirely.

            And she… she missed him.

            Addison made a face at the realization.

            Maybe it was strange, considering she didn’t know him very well at all. But now when they passed each other wordlessly, she wished she could undo their entire conversation that night.

            Addison had thought that he might come by for elfroot potions, but he seemed to be doing fine enough not to stop by the apothecary. Perhaps whatever strange relationship they had was over, which made Addison oddly sulky at the thought.

She frowned at the crates before her, thinking of the night that she’d been tipsy and needed Cullen to help her balance, with his face so close to hers—

            _Focus,_ Addison grumbled to herself, which brought her back in the moment as two Templars two her left began speaking to each other.

            She glanced sideways at them as one of the Templars rested his hand on his sword nearby.

            “He’s not about to attack.”

            Addison jumped, startled enough to smack her elbow into the stack of crates as she did so. She found the source of the voice as she cradled her arm, trying to swallow back the noise of panic she almost squeaked out.

            It was the Qunari standing behind her—the Iron Bull, or so she’d heard. She’d never spoken to him before, his mere size intimidating. That, and she hadn’t met a Qunari before and wasn’t exactly sure if she even _wanted_ to approach him.

            “What?” Addison forgot what he’d said in the first place as she blinked rapidly, tilting her chin up to see his face.

            “I said that he’s not about to attack.” The Qunari gestured with his thumb in the direction of the Templar Addison had been watching. “And being twitchy is only going to make it worse.”

            Addison’s mouth parted as she struggled to find words. “How did you…” She trailed off, uncertain of how to finish the question.

            “You’ve been eyeing the Templars for the last week, and with the mages here you look about ready to jump out of your skin.” Iron Bull crossed his arms and leaned against one of the smithy’s wooden posts. “Waiting for a fight to break out?”

            Addison gaped at him for only a moment more before regaining some of her composure and snapping her mouth closed. “No. Are you?” She rubbed her elbow again for good measure before turning back to the crates.

            “Nah. I give it at least two days before tensions get that high,” the Qunari answered, moving closer as Addison put the lid back on the top crate. “You’re the apothecary that works with Adan.”

            It wasn’t necessarily a question, so Addison decided to answer with, “And you're the mercenary captain, Iron Bull.”

            “Technically it’s _the_ Iron Bull. It makes it sound like I’m not even a person, just a mindless weapon, an implement of destruction. That really works for me.” The Qunari answered, a grin stretching across his face.

            Addison’s hands paused in her attempt to seal the crate’s lid. “If that’s what you like,” she muttered, shaking her head and forcing herself to continue with her crates despite the strange conversation and the Templars and mages around them.

            “It is,” the Iron Bull replied good-naturedly. “So, Addison, you watch Templars like a mage, and mages like a Templar. Seen too many fights between them?”

            Addison, in the middle of trying to pick up the stack of boxes, promptly dropped all of them. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the Qunari. “How do you know my name?”

            “You work for the Inquisition. And word gets around,” the Iron Bull said. “How about I help you with that?”

            “No, thank you,” Addison replied quickly, giving the man a suspicious glance as she picked up the two crates again. Her arms protested, but she straightened nonetheless.

            The Iron Bull let out a low whistle. “I didn’t take you for a heavy lifter.”

            “Maybe word just hasn’t gotten around about that yet,” Addison grunted, adjusting her grip on the lower box.

            The Iron Bull laughed at that. “Maybe. Nice meeting you.”

            “Yeah. Nice meeting you,” Addison said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she meant it. She hoisted the boxes up, trying not to look at the Templar who’d had his hand on his sword hilt earlier.

            She made it back to the apothecary cabin before her arms fell off, kicking open the door and dropping the boxes roughly on the mud streaked floor.

            “Addie!” Lina was waiting for her, perched on the chair with _The Tale of the Champion_ on her lap. It had to be at least her fifth time reading it through.

            “Hey.” Addison tried to brighten her expression, avoiding the darker thoughts plaguing her mind and shaking off the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach that refused to go away, even with the mages and Templars out of sight. “Getting away from the tavern for a bit?”

            Lina nodded, closing the worn book after tucking a blade of grass between two pages. “It was too noisy. The new people were there. Mama said they were mages from Redcliffe.”

            “Mm,” Addison said, somehow already on the topic she wanted to avoid. “What’s for dinner tonight?” She turned from Lina to busy herself unpacking the crates.

            Lina hurried to help, leaving her book on the chair. “Ram stew and bread.” She sighed seriously as Addison handed her elfroot to hang for drying. “This is the fourth night this week we had ram stew and bread.”

            Addison made a face. “The only thing worse than ram stew and bread is—”

            “Ram stew without bread,” Adan entered the cabin with the snipe.

            “Exactly,” Addison snorted.

            Adan had a dark green stain down the front of his robes, and a typical unentertained expression on his face as he checked on the glob of _something_ experimental on his work table.

            “More supplies came in today,” Addison said, pointing at the boxes since Adan seemed to miss them.

            “Mm? Oh, good.” Adan poked at the mixture on his table before turning back to Addison.

            With Lina’s help, Adan and Addison worked together to put away all the plants, and Addison kicked the boxes into the corner of the room when they finished, too tired to bother moving them again.

            Ilara stopped by later, while Adan was still working on his mystery glob and Addison was crushing elfroot.

            Her arrival prompted Lina, who had been babbling to Addison about the Guard Captain in _The Tale of the Champion,_ to become shy again as she hid behind Addison’s skirts and gaped at the Herald.

            “What do you need?” Adan asked, abrupt as ever, as Ilara let the door close behind her.

            Ilara arched an eyebrow in amusement. “Do I really only come to you when I need something, Adan?”

            “Yes,” Adan answered without hesitation. “But that’s what I’m here for.”

            Ilara laughed lightly, but it sounded tired. Addison could see the dark circles under her eyes, her normally perfectly braided hair unkempt. “I’ll be sure to come by without alternative motives more often. I do admit this time I was looking for Solas. Have you seen him recently?”

            Addison shook her head, but couldn’t help remember a conversation she’d overheard before she’d left for the cultist compound. “He’s probably off somewhere wondering about your fascinating indomitable focus,” Addison muttered, smirking slightly.

            A look of surprise flashed across Ilara’s face before she laughed again, this time with a more genuine sound. “Were you eavesdropping before I left for Redcliffe, Addie?”

            Addison’s smirk broadened into a smile. “I don’t know if it’s eavesdropping when you have all of your conversations right outside the window.”

            Ilara shook her head, still appearing amused. “You have me there.”

            _Is she blushing?_ Addison wondered, since the famed Herald of Andraste’s cheeks were darkening. She usually didn’t pay much attention to the bits of conversation that floated through the window, though sometimes she could hear Ilara and Solas discussing demons. Then she intentionally tried to tune them out.

            “He was leaving Haven, last I saw. Earlier this morning,” Adan put in.

            “He usually comes back around nightfall,” Lina said, peeking around Addison cautiously.

            Ilara nodded, giving Lina a warm smile. “Thank you. I suppose I’ll look for him later. In the meantime, can I help with anything?”

            Adan waved his hand. “We were just finishing for the night.”

            _Maybe_ you _were,_ Addison snorted to herself.

            “I see. Care to join me for dinner, then?” Ilara asked. “I could use something warm from the Singing Maiden.”

            “Ram stew it is,” Adan answered flatly.

            Ilara’s enthusiasm visibly dimmed. “Well, food is food,” she said, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than anything. “Addison, Lina, are you coming along?”

            Lina turned up her giant eyes on Addison, who really had no desire at all to go to the Singing Maiden while it was filled with mages.

            She felt a twinge of hypocrisy, considering Ilara, who Addison relatively trusted, stood before her with a warm smile and an invitation on her lips as a mage and perhaps even as a friend.

            “Addie,” Lina whispered, tugging on Addison’s skirts. “Can we eat dinner with the Herald?”

            “Can you, Addie?” Ilara asked, with a grin for good measure.

            Addison sighed, the potential excuse of needing to clean the cabin disappearing. “We can.”

            After blowing out the candles, Addison followed Ilara and Adan out of the cabin, Lina grasping her hand. Addison tensed again the moment she entered the Singing Maiden. More unfamiliar mages were inside, but at least there wasn’t anyone in Templar armor. Still, there were uneasy looks given to the mages.

            _What was it the Iron Bull had said? Give it two days before anyone starts fighting?_ Addison grimaced as she sat down beside Lina, Adan and the Herald across from them. Two days was optimistic.

            The ram stew was chewy and stringy, but Addison could swallow it, which she supposed counted as a small victory. Ilara, surprisingly, wasn’t swarmed by people as they ate. The reaction was quite different from when Varric entered the Singing Maiden—people greeted him with cheers and jokes, claps on the back.

            Now there were more whispers and stares in their direction, and Addison was reminded that the elf before her was considered to be sent by Andraste, savior of Thedas, face of the Inquisition.

            But at the moment, Ilara was patiently answering Lina’s questions about the Dalish while she grabbed another piece of bread.

            Rose snuck them extra bread, patting Addison on the shoulder as she did.

            Addison left earlier than the others, heading back to the apothecary cabin to finish crushing elfroot. It seemed that the mages had gone back to their encampment for the night, leaving Addison to walk with more reassurance in the darkness.

            She was almost at the door when she saw a figure stumble in the distance. She squinted, wondering if someone was oddly drunk for a Tuesday evening. It was made stranger with the realization that the person was just leaving the chantry.

            Addison’s eyebrows pulled together in concern as she took a few steps in the direction of the chantry, about to call out. But whoever it was righted themselves again, swaying slightly and turning toward Addison’s direction.

            It was Cullen.

            Her heart jerked as he looked like he was about to fall again, but he was striding forward, away from her, gait uneven.

            He looked like he’d been drinking, but Addison had a feeling that wasn’t the case at all.

            _Damn him,_ Addison fumed, watching him go. _And damn me, for not realizing he’d gotten this bad while we’ve been acting like children and ignoring each other._

Addison threw open the door to the unlit cabin, grabbing her bag from where she’d tossed it over the back of a chair. She rummaged through the cabinets without bothering to light candles, snagging bottles and poultices.

            Her pulse was too quick, but she wasn't sure if it was with worry or anger.

            _How could he be so bloody stupid?_ Addison raged, grinding her teeth together. _And how could I have been so bloody selfish in my annoyance?_

She had promised to help Cullen, but with one incredibly uncomfortable argument, she’d left him to deal with his illness alone.

            Addison stomped out of the cabin, and proceeded to storm through Haven. She ignored a greeting from the scouts keeping watch at the gates, eyes fixed on Cullen’s tent when it came into view.

            “Commander,” she growled as she reached the tent flaps. “It’s Addison, and I need to speak with you.” There wasn’t an answer. “Commander.” Still nothing. “Cullen, I know you’re in there!” Addison hissed to the tent, gulping down chilly air.

            There was a low groan from inside, and Addison’s anger vanished. “Cullen?”

            She could hear a rasping voice now, unintelligible words slurred together.

            “Oh, damn it all.” Addison set her jaw and pushed inside the tent.  


	12. A Heart to Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever, and I'm so sorry for being slow.  
> As a very quick re-cap: Cullen's symptoms are terrible, Addison followed him to his tent; they had a big argument a week and a half before about Templars and mages (the usual, you know).  
> Thank you for your patience!

          

            She tripped immediately upon entering the tent, the leather flap fluttering closed over her shoulder as she regained her footing.

            There was a covered lantern casting shadowed light through the tent, and Addison glanced at the bottom of the tent to find Cullen’s discarded armor as the trap she’d caught her foot in.

            “Please.”

            Addison’s head jerked up to the cot against the edge of the small tent. The blanket was thrown to the floor, one of Cullen’s arms hanging over the side of the cot.

            He muttered something again, his voice rough and barely audible as the wind picked up outside in an eerie howl.

            “Cullen?” Addison kicked the chest plate out of the way as she hurried to his side. Even in the low light, his skin was waxy and sweat was soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Can you hear me?”

            Addison set her bag on her lap as she reached to grab a coolant with one hand, using the other to confirm the obvious observation of Cullen’s fever. His forehead was hot to the touch, lips chapped as he continued to mumble incoherently.

            Her movements were unsteady as she untied the string around the leather square that served as a lid for the coolant, shifting around on her knees so she could slide her arm under Cullen’s neck to prop him up as much as she could.

            “Maker, you’re heavy,” Addison grunted, trying to ignore the way her heart was pounding in her chest.

            She tipped the contents of the bottle as best she could into the commander’s mouth, and tried to further right him when he coughed around it, the sound as if the air was being ripped from his lungs.

            Addison found herself wincing, keeping her arm under his neck and using her free hand to hold the side of his face, his stubble scratching against her palm. “Cullen, can you hear me?”

            He gasped for breath, rattling into the chilly air.

            “Damn it, damn it.” Addison said through gritted teeth. She wasn’t a physician, and was quite aware that Cullen’s situation was precarious. If she went to Sister Maren for help, it would breaking her promise to keep the lyrium withdrawal a secret. “Cullen, please wake up,” Addison whispered. If she couldn’t bring down his fever—

            “Y…not break me.”

            His eyelids were fluttering, the terrible rattling of air barely making it to his lungs coming in painful bursts.

            “Cullen?”

            His eyes didn’t open, and Addison ran her thumb over his jaw, her brow knitting together. “Stay with me,” she said quietly. “I need you to be awake enough to drink a healing potion. Can you do that for me?”

            Cullen let out a low groan in response, and Addison reached for her bag, fumbling for the bottle with the elfroot mixture. She was shaking despite all attempts to stay calm, and since the bottle was corked, used her teeth to open it before letting the cork fall away.

            She held the bottle to the edge of Cullen’s mouth, tipping the contents slowly so he wouldn’t start to choke again.

            The wind howled again outside of the tent, and Addison clenched her jaw as she emptied the healing potion. She tossed the bottle somewhere to the tent ground before checking Cullen’s temperature again.

            He was still burning to the touch.

            Cullen coughed again, and Addison winced, moving her palm from his forehead to his cheek as she had done before.

            It was then that his hand raised from where it was resting on his chest, previously balled into a fist. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, but he was shaking too much for the grip to be tight. “Addison?”

            She nodded, though she was vaguely aware that he couldn’t see the motion. “Mm?” There was a knot in her throat that prevented her from saying anything else, her whole body tense as she continued to cup his face, his fingers still clinging to her wrist.

            “Ad…”

            “I’m here,” she managed to say. “You’re alright. You’re okay.”

            His eyes opened for only a moment, and even in the dim, flickering light of the lantern Addison could see they were red and confused as they moved slowly over her.

            She felt his stare lock with hers for a moment, but then his fingers fell away from her wrist, and his eyelids blinked rapidly several times before closing again.

            Addison took a slow breath, the sound shaking as another violent gust of wind slammed into the side of the tent.

            It was going to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

            Everything around him felt too thick. The air felt too much like water as he tried to breathe, but it was almost like there was a weight pressing down on his chest. He coughed, struggling to open his eyes.

            Instantly gray light filtered into his vision, making him wince at the brightness as he choked on nothing, lungs heaving with effort.

            “Wha—I’m here. It’s okay.”

            Cullen blinked several times, a figure coming into focus. The weight on his chest disappeared as the person before him sat up, previously resting her head on his chest.

            “Addison?” Cullen rasped, only to begin coughing. His throat felt too thick as well. But it was certainly her, the young apothecary now rubbing her cheek and looking down at him with exhaustion written over her features.

            They were in his tent, and vague, blurry memories prodded in the back of his mind of her whispering that he would be alright, of cool hands pressed to his forehead, of liquid poured into his mouth.

            “Maker’s Breath,” Cullen raised a hand to run it over his face as he struggled to sit up.

            Instantly, Addison propped herself up on her knees and leaned over, supporting his shoulder. “Don’t move too fast.” She muttered, annoyance in her tone though her eyebrows pulled together in what seemed more like concern.

            His blankets were pulled around his waist, his thin white undershirt scratching against his skin. It seemed like it was still sometime in the early morning, a persistent chill permeating the tent.

            “Did you… did I…?” Cullen rubbed his hand over his jaw.

            Addison looked at him sharply. “We didn’t sleep together, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

            Cullen sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, which he immediately regretted as his lungs burned and he began coughing. “That’s not—” he tried to say between coughs, “—what I meant—”

            “Don’t work yourself up, Commander,” Addison said flatly, though she was already reaching for a canteen. She unscrewed the top and handed it to him. “You barely survived the night. It wouldn’t do for you to cough yourself to death now in a prudish fury.”

            _Prudish fury_ , Cullen coughed again as he tried to drink from the canteen she gave him. His hands were unsteady, but it was manageable. He stared at the canteen as he brought it away from his face, then looked at Addison again. “I don’t exactly remember…”

            “You nearly died.” The sharpness in her tone was there again, and her eyes were cold as she glared at him. “If I hadn’t followed you back here last night when I saw you tripping about, you could’ve been a corpse this morning.”

            Cullen stared back at her, now remembering more clearly. He’d been confused, his legs weak, stumbling back to his tent, pulling off his armor as he was torn between feeling like he was burning alive and freezing in the Hinterlands.

            And he also remembered Addison now, hearing her voice, panicked as she called his name and asked him to wake up.

            Cullen’s chin dropped immediately as he looked away. How had he let it get that bad again? That he had nearly died—

            “You’re not invincible. If we weren’t on good terms, shouldn’t your health still come first? Was your pride so wounded that you would let yourself nearly die instead of facing me and keeping your withdrawal in check?” Addison’s voice cut sharply through the icy air he was beginning to feel around him.

            “There is more at stake right now than my health,” Cullen said firmly, though he looked at the flap of his tent rather than Addison. He was partially honest as he continued, “This didn’t have to do with our… disagreement. I simply grew to busy—”

            “Bullshit.”

            That drew Cullen’s eyes to her, and he could now see the tension written on every line of her face, from her round cheeks pink from the cold to way she pursed her lips.

            “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Cullen muttered, feeling incredibly uncomfortable in his own tent. Maker, he hated being taken care of almost more than he hated being ill. Surely it would be time for him to get to work. He tried shifting to get his legs over the edge of the cot, but his vision suddenly slipped out of focus.

            “Damn it, Cullen!” Addison hissed as Cullen felt her steadying grip on his arms keeping him from swaying forward as the furnishings of his tent swam before him.

            Cullen struggled to breathe as his lungs squeezed in his chest, Addison’s cold hands around his upper arms the only thing that was keeping him from falling forward into the nothingness that was swirling before his eyes.

            They sat in silence for an immeasurable amount of time. Perhaps a hundred breaths, but maybe more. Slowly, Cullen could blink and the world fell back into place.

            Furious green eyes appeared with increasing clarity before him.

            “I…” Cullen still felt light-headed, but he wasn’t sure if that was the reason he was at a loss for words.

            “Forget it.” Addison growled, releasing her hold on Cullen’s arms.

            “No, I…” He couldn’t find what he meant to say, something more complicated than he could express tumbling around in the pit of stomach. “I’m sorry.”

            Addison, who had been reaching for her bag beside her, froze. “You’re sorry?”

            Cullen swallowed uncomfortably, one arm reaching around his middle to try to quash the pain that rose in his lungs when he breathed too deeply. “You—ah—you’ve helped me more than I deserve, and I… I’m sorry.”

            It wasn’t coming out right, but then again he wasn’t entirely sure what he was truly trying to say.

            “I wasn’t there to help you when you needed it,” Addison answered, frowning deeply. “I told you that we would keep your symptoms in check, and then after an argument—” She broke off with a frustrated noise, pushing strands of hair behind her ear. “You were stupid, but so was I. I… I’m sorry as well.”

            Cullen exhaled slowly, wincing when after a moment he began coughing again.

            “Drink water,” Addison ordered, raising her chin to eye the canteen resting on the blankets beside Cullen.

            He obeyed, finishing off the contents of the canteen as a palpably awkward silence settled in.

            When he set the canteen down again, he raised a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing at the muscles there. The familiar motion made him realize his headache was barely present, a marvel after the last week of constant pain.

            Addison reached for the empty canteen and put it in her bag. She avoided looking directly at Cullen as she said, “I’ll make more elfroot potions and coolants. We’ll continue to disagree, but I’ll be sure to bring everything by since you won’t come get it your bloody self.” She finished off with an annoyed mumble.

            “Addison,” Cullen said again, almost impulsively when she moved like she was about to stand.

            The apothecary finally looked at him again. “What?”

            “I, ah, I meant to speak to you again. After that night,” Cullen wasn’t sure if now was the time to attempt to discuss it, particularly with nightmares of Kinloch Hold still fresh in his mind from the night before.

            Addison arched an eyebrow. “You have a way of making everything layered with innuendo, Commander.”

            Cullen blinked at her. “No, that’s not what I—you know I meant the argument,” he finished with exasperation.

            “Do I?” Addison asked, her usual flat humor seeming to return slightly though she still folded her arms over her chest.

            Cullen looked at her with a mixture of impatience, amusement, and exhaustion, not sure which one he felt more of. “I don’t understand it. And I still don’t.”

            “That much is clear.” Addison said.

            Cullen clenched his jaw for a moment and tried to be patient considering the young woman before him had just saved his life. More than that, he… he wanted to understand her. “Then can you explain? I understand that you saw an abomination that day, and that in itself would’ve been disturbing,” he said slowly.

            “Don’t patronize me, Cullen,” Addison snapped, and Cullen could see she was already bristling. “Of course abominations are disturbing. But I didn’t say anything out of some wild hysteria.”

            Cullen ground his teeth together. “Then explain.” _Be patient,_ he tried to think, _Maker guide me, she makes it hard to be patient._ He rubbed his temples, and in a more calm tone added, “Please.”

            Addison pursed her lips, eyes steely as she watched Cullen’s face. “Will you listen to me as more than a man who used to be a Templar?”

            The question caught Cullen off guard. But wasn’t that what he was trying to do every day now? Be more than the man he was? Be more than the man who had made too many wrong decisions, who had trusted too many of the wrong people? To be more than the Templar he was in the past?

            “I’ll try,” Cullen said quietly.

            Addison’s eyes bore into his, specks of gold and brown swirling in emerald irises. “What I said about Templars and abominations—you told me I didn’t understand. But I’ve seen a mage become an abomination before my own eyes _because_ of a Templar. Every day that the Templars and mages remain here, a fight threatens to break out. The Templars could provoke the mages, and the mages who fear the Templars would be vulnerable to it.”

            _Skin, gray, smoking, stretching, screaming._

Cullen blanched, his stomach turning at the memory. One of his hands grasped at the edge of the blanket as he tried to keep himself in _this_ moment, though his heart was already pounding faster than it should. “I’ve seen mages turn as well. In Kinloch Hold. For their own power.”

            “For their own freedom,” Addison’s voice was hard, but there was a shake to it now.

            “You call the massacre of their own kind and the Templars an act for freedom? It was bloodlust and a craving for power,” Cullen said through gritted teeth.

            Addison’s eyes turned steely. “Is this the Templar I’m speaking to now? Or is this the man who promised to listen to me?”

            Her words felt almost like a slap across his cheek, but Cullen breathed out through his nose, deliberately trying unclenching his jaw. “What, then, do you know of Kinloch Hold that you would argue with me?”

            “Alex.” Addison said, now a sadness creeping into her expression to mix with the anger. “When my brother escaped, he wanted nothing more than his freedom. He had no desire for power, no want for revenge upon his captors.”

            “Your brother wasn’t in the circle when it fell,” Cullen countered.

            “No. But he could have been. And he would’ve had the same fate.” Addison’s voice was softer now. “I told you he was killed by the Templars, but it wasn’t that simple.”

            Cullen watched as Addison finally looked away from him, and he realized it was because her eyes were filling with tears.

            “The Templars found him in our house and tried to drag him away. I followed.” Addison looked up to the top of the tent, her defensive positioning with arms crossed over her chest now appearing as if she were trying to hold herself together. “He was begging them not to take him back. He was so afraid. I’d never heard him like that before. I tried pleading as well. We swore that he’d never cause trouble—that he wouldn’t use his magic. But the Templars refused, and the more Alex struggled, the more they threatened him. The harder they yanked the rope around his hands.”

            Her lips were trembling now, and Cullen realized with a sickening feeling, one that had only been growing since she began her explanation, what had truly happened to her brother.

            “He became an abomination.” Cullen said quietly.

            Tears tracked down her cheeks now, though she quickly raised a hand to wipe them away. “He screamed the entire time. The Templars tried to strike him down, but he was already changing and strong enough to overpower them. He nearly killed one before charging at me. It was like he had no idea who I was. His own sister.” She shivered, the movement suppressed enough that Cullen almost didn’t notice. “He would’ve killed me if the second Templar hadn’t stabbed a sword into his back in time.”

            “It wasn’t your brother anymore,” Cullen told her, in an attempt at reassurance.

            “Maybe.” Addison met his eyes again. “I don’t think I could’ve given up on him. I don’t think I could’ve done anything knowing that he was Alex—that there still might be a part of him left.”

            Cullen shook his head slowly. “There’s not even a shred of humanity left in abominations.”

            Addison let out a sharp breath, almost like she was laughing. “He would’ve been completely human as my brother and stayed my brother if the Templars had just left him alone. Cullen, I _know_ how dangerous mages can be. But they’re dangerous because they’re made to be. They’re caged and afraid, and the Templars are their jailers until they die or go mad. That’s why I told you we shouldn’t have the Templars and mages here. Mages aren’t born monsters, like the Templars seem to think they are. They’re created.”

            It was not an argument Cullen had heard for the first time. But to hear it in Addison’s voice, strong but still shaking, he could only run his hand over his forehead. “I don’t believe mages are monsters, Addison.”

            “Then why was my brother treated as such?” Addison’s eyes bore into him, all the way to the memories he had of Kinloch Hold when he suggested all the mages be killed after the Circle was saved, to every time he’d turned his back to Meredith’s abuses in Kirkwall.

            “Your brother… I am sorry for his death.” _I’m sorry for all the deaths that should never have happened, be it Templar or mage._

            “There was something so terrible at the Circle that Alex lost himself in fear of going back, Cullen. I don’t know what the answer is for all of this, and I’m painfully aware I trust mages as little as I trust Templars. Even in Haven, every moment I fear a fight will break out between the mages and Templars,” Addison rubbed the bridge of her nose.

            “That is a fear we both share,” Cullen murmured, feeling the heat of the argument beginning to ebb away. “And I can’t pretend I know the answer anymore, either. I used to think I did, but I realize more and more there is no easy solution.”

            Addison did laugh now, though it was short and bleak. “A conclusion we both share. I suppose there’s nothing we can do now about the situation in Haven.”

            “None other than trying to keep the peace,” Cullen agreed. “And believe this if nothing else, Addison, I am trying to do that.”

            Addison watched him, searching his face before saying, “I believe you.”

            Cullen gave her a small half-smile, and silence settled in again.

            Addison scratched the back of her head, wincing slightly. “This probably wasn’t the best time to finish our argument. Are you feeling alright? Damn, I should’ve asked that before.”

            Cullen chuckled lightly as her wince deepened into what he realized was a very characteristic cringe of hers. “I feel fine,” Cullen assured her quickly. Then as he rubbed the back of his neck, he added, “Though I wouldn’t be if you, ah, if you hadn’t been there.”

            “Yes, well. You’re welcome.” Addison mumbled, pulling her bag into her lap. “Take better care of yourself. Whether it’s a matter of time or not, I expect to see you for a check in at least once a week. I’ll be sure to leave potions for you here if you don’t stop by the apothecary.”

            Cullen tried to get to his feet as Addison began to stand, but she promptly glared at him. “It’s still early morning. I haven’t heard the dawn patrol, so you should rest. Stay in bed as much as you can, actually. You’ll need at least a day to recover from that fever. No drills, no participating in training personally, nothing that would leave you short of breath. Understand?”

            Cullen, now looking up at her and huddled in a blanket, remarked dryly, “And here I thought I was the commander.” He hated being cared for, but there was something about Addison’s brusque manner that made him almost feel like an officer receiving orders again rather than a man being doted on by a caretaker.

            That made her smirk. “Even commander’s need someone to keep them in line sometimes. I would say doctor’s orders, but I’m only an apothecary.” Her expression turned more serious as she adjusted the bag over her shoulder.

            “Only an apothecary who saved my life,” Cullen said quietly.

            Addison blinked at him, before saying, “Please take care of yourself, Cullen.”

            There was a softness in her voice that was very different from her previous orders, but oddly enough he didn’t mind. If anything, he realized there was a strange feeling that it evoked. “I will.” He said, unsure of why a new gentleness in her eyes was making him very aware of her presence. “I—Ah… Addison?”

            She tilted her head slightly, hair falling from where it had been tucked behind her ear. “Yes?”

            “Thank you,” Cullen said quietly.

            With one last look back at him, Addison turned on her heel and hurried out of the tent. Cullen could’ve sworn he saw her cheeks turning red as she went.

           


	13. Unexpected Friendships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who's left kudos and kind comments so far. It seriously makes my day.  
> This chapter was written on my phone, and though I've made rounds of edits, if there are typos or glaring errors in formatting I didn't catch, please feel free to let me know.  
> <3

            "Knight-Captain, your squadron will take defensive flanking position. We don't want any surprises." Cullen looked at Rylen, who nodded in response. "The Chargers will be placed along the mountain pass, so watch for a signal from them should any trouble arise. Chargers, you're not to engage if there's a surprise attack. Pull back to the Knight-Captain's line and hold it there."

            "Got it," the Iron Bull replied easily, towering over the others who had gathered around the war table.

            Cullen glanced to Leliana, whose lips curled into a chilling smile. They had spent the hours prior to this meeting discussing and planning, trying to account for all worst-case scenarios. With their enemy still lurking in the shadows, the last thing they needed was a surprise attack on the temple while they tried to seal the breach. 

            The Herald let out a delicate sigh from where she stood between the Iron Bull and Solas. "Let's just hope this mark decides to cooperate," she said lightly, though she raised her chin, determination written across her face. 

            Cullen felt another surge of respect for Lavellan, a notion that seemed to becoming more and more permanent with the woman's cool head and willingness to stand with the Inquisition as the world crumbled around them. "We'll do whatever we can tomorrow to ensure success," Cullen told her, though he addressed everyone around the war table. "Any questions?" His eyes swept by familiar faces, coming to rest on Cassandra's.

            "None," the Seeker said firmly. "Everyone is dismissed. We leave at dawn."

            Cullen stepped out of the way as the others began filtering out, reaching for a stack of reports he'd read but hadn't yet responded to that he'd left on the little table at the edge of the room. The room grew quieter until he and Cassandra were the only ones who remained. She also had a thin pile of papers in hand, and she leaned against the war table as she read, making her typical sound of disapproval at something.

            "Cullen, did you read this report from Leliana's scouts near the Storm Coast?" Cassandra asked, looking with disgust at the page before her.

            "I did. Even though the Herald killed darkspawn wanderers, it seems there's still more camps cropping up." Cullen muttered, setting down his own reports. "I thought about sending a squadron to help secure the area and hold our forward camps, but we don't have the forces to spare right now, and the darkspawn have yet to attack any of our camps."

            Cassandra nodded. "Something to address later. Perhaps we should discuss it with Warden Blackwall."

            "Agreed," Cullen said, picking up the coin they had placed on the map for the Storm Coast and turning it over with a gloved hand. His fingers hadn't been shaking as much recently, thanks to the potions Addison left just inside his tent. It had only been a few days since he had woke to her sleeping beside his cot, but he found himself looking for her whenever he walked around Haven. Of course, he hadn't actually sought her out- he was unsure what he would say. And he was busy recently, with planning the assault on the breach. 

            "Cullen, may I ask you something?"

            Cullen's head jerked up, pulling him from his thoughts of the apothecary. "What?"

            Cassandra was watching him with an expression Cullen knew usually accompanied some comment or question she knew Cullen wasn't particularly comfortable with.

            "My health is fine, Cassandra," Cullen said quietly, as the door to the main hall of the chantry remained ajar. "But thank you for checking in regardless."

            "Ah. Yes. That is... Good." Cassandra frowned, her dark eyebrows pulling together as she studied the edge of the war table. 

            Cullen stared at her, wondering if she didn't believe him. "What is it?"

            Cassandra was uncharacteristically tentative as she began, "I know that I have no justification for intruding on your personal life, Cullen. But I..." She finally met Cullen's eyes. "Would it be inappropriate to ask a question regarding... Well..."

            Cullen could feel his face turn incredulous. "Maker's Breath, Cassandra. What's this about?"

            "The apothecary." Cassandra replied immediately, almost eagerly. "Leliana informed me that she was seen leaving your tent in the early morning several days ago, and... Well..." The Seeker's eyes widened. "I know it's none of my business. But are you... involved?"

            Cullen blinked at her. "The apothecary." He repeated, the conversation veering completely away from the direction he had assumed it was going. “ _Addison_?”

            Cassandra nodded, watching Cullen with an intense curiosity. "Varric had also mentioned the two of you, and I thought that... Perhaps..." She seemed to pull back. "That was inappropriate. I overstepped my bounds. Just forget that I-"

            "Maker's Breath," Cullen said again, this time placing his hand over his face and running it down to his jaw. "I don't know what Varric has been saying or how Leliana twisted the information, but Addison was in my tent as an apothecary and nothing more."

            "What?" Cassandra's eyes narrowed, and if Cullen wasn't mistaken, he thought she actually looked disappointed. "Varric was so sure..."

            Cullen gave an exasperated sigh. "Varric invents stories at everyone else's expense, Cassandra. You'd think we were school children with the way he..." Cullen searched for the right word, "gossips." He didn't want to know the specifics. The dwarf could take a word and make it into a dramatic story without hesitation. 

            "Oh." Cassandra's frown deepened. "So the apothecary-"

            "Is a friend," Cullen finished, the words surprisingly easy to say and surprisingly true. 

            "I see." Cassandra pursed her lips and turned her attention to the reports once more.

            Cullen closed his eyes for a moment and wondered at exactly how odd the conversation was. 

            "Have you met all the Templars who've joined the Inquisition?" Cassandra asked suddenly.

            "I believe so," he answered, glad to be in comfortable topics once again. "At the very least I can recognize their names. Why? Have there been any problems with them?" While he wasn't in the order any longer, he and Cassandra were still the best people in the Inquisition to communicate with them given a mutual understanding, particularly since the Herald brought all the mages from Redcliffe back to Haven. 

            "Not any problems," Cassandra said stiffly, giving Cullen another strange look. "But... What do you think of Lysette?"

            Cullen felt his brow knit together in confusion. "Lysette? She seems capable."

            "Yes, of course." Cassandra shuffled the papers in her hands uncomfortably. "Perhaps you could get to know her better... Over dinner?"

            "Maker, help me," Cullen muttered in exasperation, completely done with the Seeker's strange hedging. "What's this about, Cassandra?" 

            Cassandra made a noise in the back of her throat, also sounding equally exasperated. "Something Varric said that I keep thinking about." She sighed deeply, setting the reports down. "Can I speak plainly, Cullen?"

            Cullen found himself setting down his own papers. "By all means." He was confused enough as is. 

            Cassandra met Cullen's eyes evenly. "You've been through much already. You deserve to be happy. And while my... assumptions regarding the apothecary were misplaced, the sentiment is the same. Perhaps I was hoping that if we are successful tomorrow, we could all look forward to the future."

            Cullen relaxed for the first time since the meeting in the war room had begun. "I think we're all ready for the future to stop looking so bleak. Though what it has to do with Addison or Lysette, I'm not so sure," he chuckled awkwardly at that. Surely Cassandra wasn't trying to act as some sort of matchmaker? 

            "Blame it on Varric," Cassandra said with her characteristic disgruntled look. "He was spinning romantic stories, and I... Well, I admit I was sucked in."

            Cullen laughed again, more comfortably now. "You wouldn't be the first."

            "Yes, I suppose I wouldn't be," Cassandra grumbled. "We can talk more after the assault on the breach."

            Cullen nodded in agreement. "With any luck, we'll be moving forward." 

            Cassandra gave him a slight smile. "And perhaps to a brighter future."

            There was something in the depths of her eyes that reminded Cullen of how much the both of them had seen of destruction. From Kirkwall in ashes to the conclave in flames, they had an understanding of each other. 

            Cassandra turned and walked from the room then, leaving Cullen to pick up the reports again and rifle through them. His mind, however, continued to jump to the upcoming assault on the breach, and the undetermined chance of success. Cullen rubbed his jaw, fingers running over stubble. The current report in question had to do with the recovery of the Inquisition soldiers the Herald had freed from the Fallow Mire. 

            Cullen skimmed over the rest of the paper before realizing that he needed to check in with Addison about their health. It was the motivation he needed to focus on the reports again, ready to be done with them so he could find the apothecary who'd become an unexpected friend. 

 

* * *

 

            "And then Eppie pushed Carson in the water!" Lina recounted from where she sat at the corner of the apothecary cabin, Rhys on her lap and playing with a little wooden toy Warden Blackwall had made- as if Addison needed more reason to respect the man. 

            "It sounds like Eppie needs someone to tell her it isn't very nice to throw people into streams," Addison muttered, giving Lina a meaningful eyebrow raise. The girl had returned from the refugee hamlet earlier in the day, but there had been various people coming to pick up potions and Lina was far too shy to talk in front of strangers. But now that things were quieting down, there was time for Lina to divulge the sibling quarrel. 

            "I did! Promise, Addie, I told her to be nice to Carson," Lina said quickly. 

            "Good," Addison returned her attention to the elfroot potions she was making. Andraste's ass, she'd made so many in the last few days in preparation for the assault on the breach she was getting sick of the smell of elfroot- and it was one of her favorite scents. "Is Carson still limping?"

            Lina shook her head. "He can even run faster than me now. Addie, Rhys keeps putting the thing in his mouth and getting his spit all over it."

            Addison glanced back, acknowledging that Rhys was chewing on the toy. Fortunately, it was some kind of top, and big enough that he didn't risk choking on it. "My advice- don't try to stop him. I did that yesterday with a cooking spoon Flissa had and he cried and moped for almost an hour."

            Lina made a face. "But it's gross and spitty. All of his salva is getting everywhere."

            "Saliva," Addison corrected. Lina's vocabulary was incredibly advanced for her age, but considering she consumed books like Rhys tried to consume Flissa's roasted potatoes, it wasn't a surprise. "I know. I'll give you a towel when I'm done."

            Addison rolled her wrist before continuing to pulverize the elfroot with her pestle, deciding that she was definitely tired of the smell.

            "Can you sing us a song, Addie?" Lina asked, wiping her hands off on her skirt. She yawned as Rhys tugged on her hand, demanding attention.

            "What song do you want to hear?" Addison asked, glad Lina had moved past the 'One Little Nug in a Snug Little Rug' phase.

            "One of your Starkhaven songs, maybe," Lina tried to disentangle her hair from Rhys' fingers, and Addison stepped over to give Rhys a stern shake of her head before planting a kiss on his cheek and helping Lina un-knot her dark hair.

            "I can do that," Addison said as she returned to her work station, thinking of her favorite song that her mother sang to her as a child.

            She hummed quietly at first before remembering more of the words- they were in the old tongue of Starkhaven, so Addison didn't even know all the meaning. Her mother had told her at some point, but she'd forgotten. 

            Addison was nearly done crushing the elfroot when she glanced up to check in on the ominously quiet corner of the room, only to find that Rhys and Lina had fallen asleep, Rhys on Lina's lap, and Lina sitting on the floor with her head leaning against the wall. She slept with her mouth hanging wide open, looking just like Rose. 

            Addison snorted to herself at the habit, wondering if Lina would start snoring as well. It always made Addison laugh- the petite, delicate Rose who snored like an old, beer-bellied man on some nights.

            She moved on to mixing the crushed elfroot with water in little bottles. The door opened then, letting cold hair rush into the cabin.

            Addison shivered, turning from her work station to see if it was Adan, or someone requesting more potions, but it was Cullen.

            She felt herself smile without really thinking about it as her eyes swept over his face. _Less pale, doesn't seem feverish, still dark circles under his eyes, but those might be a permanent part of his face now_ , Addison thought.

            He closed the door behind him quickly, though the cabin already felt significantly chillier than before.

            "Hey," she whispered, finding herself smiling wider. She gestured to Rhys and Lina asleep at the edge of the room as an explanation for her soft tone.

            Cullen gave a crooked smile back to her, nodding. "Long day for them?"

            Addison rolled her eyes. "Lots of adventuring. What about you? How are you feeling?"

            "Better," he said quietly, "thanks to you."

            Addison felt a warmth rush into her cheeks that she was beginning to associate with Cullen and his honeyed eyes. "Thanks to elfroot," Addison muttered. "Maker knows I've been drowning in the bloody plant recently. Do you know how many potions and poultices Leliana requested for this assault on the breach?"

            Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. "Quite a lot, I assume. Leliana likes to be prepared. As do I."

            "Yes, yes, that's all well in good. But if I have to breathe in any more of this, I'm probably going to throw up," Addison grumbled, though she was much less put out than she was appearing to be. "Though hopefully you won't need any healing potions tomorrow."

            It was the cloud hanging over everyone's head- or rather the nagging thought in the Inquisition's mind. Every time Addison handed out baskets of potions today, she hoped that no one would have to use them. 

            "We're still not sure what to expect, so it's best to be prepared for anything," Cullen explained, still keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the children sleeping in the corner.

            "I know, I know," Addison wrinkled nose in annoyance. She would be the last one to hear about how the assault on the breach went, waiting at Haven while the Inquisition tried to heal the rift in the sky. "I just... I hope that you- that everyone- stays safe," Addison grumbled, shivering in the cold despite the heat crawling up her cheeks at her slip of the tongue. She quickly turned her back on Cullen to face her workstation, finishing mixing the few remaining bottles.

            "I wanted to ask you about the recovery of the Inquisition soldiers the Herald rescued from the Fallow Mire," Cullen murmured after a few moments of silence.

            Addison looked over her shoulder to see he's moved to the hearth and was adding kindling to it. "They'll all be fine in a few more days. Other than malnourishment, dehydration and several minor injuries, only one- Peter- had anything more severe. And his infected stab wound is healing up quickly," she reported, speaking quickly and brusquely. Her work was a topic of conversation that she wouldn't accidentally make personal comments to the commander.

            "Good work," Cullen nodded his approval as he straightened, the fire already cracking with more intensity. 

            "Maybe the Inquisition should consider sending more support to forward camps in dangerous areas," Addison muttered, voicing the thought she had when treating the rescued soldiers.

            "I'd like to. Unfortunately we're spread thin as it is, currently. There have been reports of darkspawn attacks at the Storm Coast, and those forward camps need fortification as well. I've been contemplating sending an assault force to locate the darkspawn main camp or point of origin, but I don't want to send too small a squadron in blind. The Fallow Mire seems less dangerous now that the Herald dealt with the Avvar challenger. There's just the problem of the undead, and-" Cullen broke off as Addison listened. She'd turned completely away from the workstation so she could watch him as he frowned, making exhaustion more prominent in his features. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to, ah..."

            "Talk to me?" Addison asked flatly. "It's more than alright, Cullen." She exhaled slowly, feeling her own long day beginning to set in. "I didn't realize there was such strain on the Inquisition's numbers."

            Cullen nodded, his expression grim. "We're gaining legitimacy and recruits, but the more we extend our reach, the more we need resources and numbers. Josephine and Leliana are doing what they can diplomatically and..." He searched for the right word, his left hand moving to rest on the hilt of his sword.

            "Spy-ily?" Addison invented the word with a smirk. 

            Cullen gave a crooked smile back. "Yes, that." He turned to the fire and took the poker, moving the logs around. "But they can only do so much."

            Addison nodded slowly as her eyes moved to the sleeping forms of Lina and Rhys, Lina's mouth still comically open. "The Inquisition has done a lot already," Addison said quietly, words that she never expected herself to say.

            Cullen chuckled as he faced Addison again. "That was unexpected."

            Addison scowled at him. "Don't get used to it. Maybe all the elfroot is going to my brain. Don't you have work to do? People to yell at? Recruits to abuse?"

            Cullen snorted now, clearly amused by Addison's mood swings. "Something like that, yes." He glanced at Addison's work station, littered with bottles and powders. "Are you nearly finished for the night?"

            "Done, yes," Addison said. "No one is allowed to get injured tomorrow because I refuse to make anything else with elfroot in it." She made a face as she moved the bottles from table to a basket. 

            Cullen leaned against the doorframe as Addison finished, setting the basket down against the wall before turning her attention to the still-sleeping Lina and Rhys.

            "At least there will be no fight to get them to go to bed tonight," Addison joked softly, though she couldn't help but to smile at the two of them. She rolled her shoulders back and braced her weight on the wall beside Cullen. 

            "You said Rhys lost his parents?" Cullen asked, watching as Rhys squirmed a bit in his dreaming, rotating a bit in Lina's lap. 

            "Yes. I'm not sure he really knows what happened to his father yet. We didn't let him see the body," Addison answered, sliding down the wall to sit, curling her knees up to her chest.

            Cullen followed suit, though his armor seemed like it would be uncomfortably bulky. He still managed to bend one knee, which he rested his forearm on. "And Lina's father?"

            Addison instantly felt her expression sour. "An absolute selfish ass. I don't know what Rose saw in him. He accrued a massive debt gambling and then ran away. It's the reason I came back to the Crossroads. When I saw Rose's letter, I was packing and ready to leave. It just so happened the disaster at the conclave was around the same time." 

            "Rose is in debt now?" Cullen asked, concern prickling his voice.

            Addison did her best not to look at him impatiently. Rose always managed to pull in worried admirers, though she could handle things perfectly fine herself. "She paid most of it off. She had money stashed away that her parents had left her. It was enough to get the collectors off her back. I'm just glad she's forgotten to tell her good for nothing husband, or it would've been a tight spot."

            For some reason, the way Cullen's worried expression relaxed at Addison's assurance of Rose's financial situation made jealousy prickle under Addison's skin, and she wiggled her toes in her boot. 

            It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, given that the object of Addison's pathetic, teenaged affection had only had eyes for Rose. That was, Liam pined after Rose until he was shot down by rogue Templars at the Crossroads two days after Addison's return from Denerim. 

            Addison wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, remembering the hasty way they'd held his service, that no one besides his parents had time to cry with the never ending chaos.

            "Are you cold?" Cullen murmured, and Addison realized he'd been looking at her.

            "A little," Addison rubbed her eyes. "But I think it's time that I get Lina and Rhys back to the cabin."

            She forced herself to stand, knees popping and shuffled over to the chair where Lina and Rhys slept, hearing Cullen rise behind her.

            "Lina, it's time to go back to the cabin," Addison said gently, trying not to snort again as the girl's head rolled, mouth still hanging open. Addison scooped Rhys up in her arms, and he only stirred to clasp his hands behind Addison's neck.

            "Carry me, Addie," she whined sleepily, not bothering to open her eyes. 

            "Lina, you're too big to carry now," Addison laughed softly.

            "I don't want to walk." Lina sounded almost like she was sleep-talking, still keeping her head rested on the seat of the chair.

            "Lina, you've got to get up," Addison said, more amused than impatient as Lina was clearly still not fully awake.

            Cullen coughed awkwardly from where he stood beside Addison. "Do you, ah, want me to help?"

            "It's fine, I can-"

            "Addie, carry me." Lina mumbled again.

            Addison sighed, opening her mouth to tell Lina to get up once more when Cullen stepped over and effortlessly picked up Lina, the girl looking completely dwarfed in his arms. Addison blinked at them, unsure of what to say, other than, "Thanks."

            Cullen just nodded, and Addison blew out the candles and squeezed around him to open the door, ready for the cold evening air. 

            They hurried through a quiet Haven, the night before the big assault seemingly not filled with any pre-celebrations. Addison assumed most people felt as apprehensive as she did. She looked at Cullen from the corner of her eye as Rhys shivered, and Addison rubbed circles into his back. If she was this concerned about the assault tomorrow, she could imagine Cullen was on edge.

            They made it to the cabin, and Addison knocked with her elbow, only to realize Rose probably wasn't back yet. She pushed inside, suddenly aware with Cullen's presence that their sparse cabin was rather messy. A closed lantern burned on their table, indicating Rose had been back earlier and left it lit.

            "Lina shares this mattress with Rose," Addison gestured with her chin as she set Rhys down on their bed. 

            Cullen was surprisingly gentle as he placed Lina on the blankets, the girl yawning and rolling over. 

            "Lucky for Lina that you were around," Addison remarked, pushing hair behind her ear and looking up at Cullen. "Thank you again."

            "You don't need to thank me," Cullen replied. "She's much lighter than some of the shields I've had before."

            "You could always retire from working in the military and become a nanny," Addison threw out the suggestion flatly as she pulled the thin blanket over Rhys.

            Cullen chuckled. "That would be... interesting."

            "You know," Addison began before pausing dramatically. "I take it back. I really can't see you as a nanny." 

            Cullen laughed, louder this time. "I'm wounded. I was truly considering a change in careers."

            Addison grinned at him. "My sincerest apologies, Commander. By all means, live your dreams."

            They smiled at each other for a few moments, Addison sitting on her mattress and Cullen standing by the door, before silence settled in and Addison remembered again what tomorrow held.

            "How are you feeling? About tomorrow, that is," Addison asked, switching cots so she could tuck Lina in.

            "I'm not sure," Cullen said quietly. "We could face no resistance, an outpouring of demons, or some agents of this 'Elder One'. And then there's Lavellan's mark."

            "So, imminent destruction or a monumental victory." Addison nodded to herself, scooting across the cot to get to her feet beside Cullen. "Sounds great." 

            Cullen exhaled slowly, meeting Addison's eyes and saying with a quiet reassurance, "Whatever happens tomorrow, the Inquisition will handle it. I have faith in what we've accomplished this far."

            Addison could hear the weariness in his voice, and reached forward to put her hand on his arm. "I do, too. In you, in Ilara, in the Inquisition itself, which isn't something I thought I'd ever say," Addison squeezed his arm lightly, though she wasn't sure he could feel it through the leather armor. "Whatever happens tomorrow, I'll be back at Haven ready to patch people up and move forward."

            Cullen's face had softened, and Addison wondered if she had ever seen him look like this before. When he'd nearly died days ago and she'd sat by him through the night, he'd seemed vulnerable rather than soft. But now he was looking at her... Warmly. 

            "That..." Cullen looked away, "Thank you."

            Addison quickly removed her hand from his arm, her face heating up again. "Just do your best to keep everyone in tact tomorrow, will you?"

            Cullen nodded. "Maker guide us,” he said, almost so quiet it was under his breath and Addison wasn’t sure if she was meant to have heard it at all. “Good night, Addison."

            "Good night, Cullen." Addison really, truly hoped he- they- would all come back to Haven safely.


	14. Reckless

            Addison couldn’t remember a time in the last several months that she’d felt so _light_. Maybe it was the mug of hard cider she held in her hand, but more likely it was that the breach had been sealed, and everyone returned safely.

            Ilara, with a satisfied but exhausted expression; Solas, looking at Ilara with a mixture of pride and respect; Varric with a deep laugh already bubbling on his lips mixed with stories of what it took Ilara to reach this point; the soldiers, relieved and smacking each other on the back, pulling off armor and returning the unneeded eflroot potions to the apothecary cabin.

            Addison and Adan had worked there earlier when all had first returned, but now it was dusk and the celebrations were in full swing. Addison stood beside Adan and Gerta now, laughing as one of the villagers picked a new song on the fiddle and people began singing along.

            They’d won. The nightmare was over.

            Addison took a long drink from her cider, taking it all in. Up until now, Haven had been filled with either the clanking of swords from the recruits training, shouting from Chancellor Roderick or some Templar, or an icy quiet when the atmosphere was too tense. They’d fought for their survival for so long, but now they could begin rebuilding.

            Addison wasn’t sure how.

            Maybe she needed to return to the Crossroads—or she could go back to Denerim. She’d thought only of protecting Rose, Lina, and Rhys for two months now. Yet the two months seemed like eternity—she felt like she’d lived an entirely different life before.

            “What’s on your mind, Addie?” Gerta’s ever-relaxed voice disrupted Addison’s thoughts from spinning into questions about the future.

            “I’m not entirely sure,” Addison looked over at the scout who was becoming more and more familiar. It was almost as if Addison was just starting a life in Haven. “What are you planning on doing now that it’s over?”

            Gerta gave Addison an easy grin. “It’s far from over. The Inquisition dealt with the whole in the sky, but there’s still the matter of rifts and demons, of rogue Templars and mages, bandits—and let’s not forget chantry squabbles.” Gerta listed them all off, ticking her fingers up as she did.

            Addison snorted. “Maybe we should skip the celebrations and get right to business then. I’d forgotten that while the world isn’t facing its direct end any longer, there’s still idiots to deal with.”

            The fiddler chose a new song, and Adan cheered loudly from next to Addison, though it was more of a gruff shout.

            “There’s nothing wrong with taking one night to celebrate now,” Gerta answered, swiping Addison’s mug and taking a drink. “This is good stuff.”

            “Do you want me to get you some?” Addison asked with a laugh as Gerta handed the mug back and wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve.

            “No, I’m on duty tonight for patrols.” Gerta answered with a look at the cider. “And that tastes too much like fruit and not enough like alcohol for my tastes.”

            “Suit yourself,” Addison answered as she sipped. “So you’re staying on? With Leliana and the Inquisition, I mean.”

            Gerta nodded, exhaling slowly while looking around her. “I was a hunter before all of this, and never thought I’d join some big organization. Thought it would be all bluster and politics. Maybe sometimes it still is, but I like what we’re doing here.” Gerta gave Addison and knowing look. “I think you do, too.”

            Addison stared at her, the words ringing true. Some of the soldiers had begun dancing in the grass around the fiddler, swinging each other around with a carelessness that Addison had never seen behind Haven’s walls before.

            _Could I stay here?_ Addison wondered as she fiddled with the handle of her mug. She liked making healing poultices that could save lives rather than hangover cures for nobles, and she preferred working with someone like Ilara making the calls rather than answering to Queen Anora. And the people in the Inquisition weren’t anything like the decorum-obsessed people at court. From Varric’s stories and subtle winks to Ilara’s humor and Solas’s quiet conversations, these were the people Addison wanted to be with.

            “Gerta, eh?” Adan looked over Addison to the scout, who gave a sly grin in return.

            “That’s right.”

            “Feel like dancing?”

            Addison felt her mouth drop open at Adan’s question, and it might have widened when Gerta stuck out her hand and let Adan pull her a few steps away to dance with the others. Adan was obviously a little drunk, tripping about as he and Gerta spun in a circle, and Addison couldn’t help but to laugh at the scene. Gerta was grinning widely, and Addison wondered at the vague thoughts of Gerta and Adan together one day.

            She found herself looking for Cullen then, only having caught a glimpse of him earlier when the troops returned. He’d given her a tired smile, but then had disappeared. He was another reason to stay, perhaps, though Addison knew she would be a fool if she’d let feelings for a man influence her decisions for her future. Still, she couldn’t quite quash the urge she had to speak with him, or at least to see him. But the night was only growing darker, and he probably had things to attend to. Finding herself oddly disappointed, she stopped letting herself search for him only to find Varric coming toward her with Lina trailing behind him.

            “No one’s asked you to dance yet?” Varric asked, and Addison realized that she was standing alone, likely appearing the wallflower she so frequently was.

            “No one wanted me stepping on their toes.” Addison didn’t miss a beat, and Varric chuckled. Addison finished off her cider and set it on the table behind her that had been brought out for the wine barrels—donated from the nearby village for the celebration. “Lina, have you had something to eat yet?”

            Lina shook her head. “But Addie! Addie, Varric told me all about the breach! Ilara threw out her hand and sealed it with a blast of green light, and stars came down around her.”

            “You tell stories almost better than I do, kid.” Varric looked at Lina affectionately, ruffling her hair despite their similar heights.

            Addie raised a skeptical eyebrow, sure that if Ilara was present she’d be laughing and saying something along the lines of, _And then Andraste appeared in a chariot of holy fire and gave me a thousand gold pieces for my efforts._

            “Maybe she’ll be the next great author of our age,” Addison muttered. “What do you think, Lina. Could you write a story about Ilara?”

            Lina nodded enthusiastically, and Varric said, “Ooh, careful there, kid. I don’t want too much competition. Sales are getting harder and harder.”

            Addison was about to answer that perhaps it was the quality of his books, but the sound of bells made her stop short.

            “Forces approaching—to arms!”

            It was Cullen’s voice, and Addison turned to see him running from the east side of Haven towards the main gates, a squadron of soldiers with him.

            Addison frowned, her brow furrowing as she met Varric’s eyes in confusion.

            “Don't look at me—I thought we’d cut ourselves a break for the night,” Varric said, though his face darkened as he spoke.

            The villagers stopped dancing, the fiddler cut off as the bells continued to ring. “Get to safety,” a soldier was shouting.

            _This can’t be good. No, this is obviously very, very bad,_ Addison thought as she looked to Lina. “Get your mother and Rhys from the tavern and go to the chantry. Can you do that for me?”

            The villagers began to flee around them, dropping mugs and shouting to each other over the bells. Addison could hear it now beyond Haven. It was marching—many, many feet marching at once.

            “Addie,” Lina’s eyes were huge, fear in them that Addison hadn’t seen since the Crossroads. “I want to stay with you.”

            Addison shook her head, kneeling down to hold Lina’s face, placing her palms on the girl’s cheeks. “I’ll meet you in the chantry once I know what’s going on. But you have to take care of Rose and Rhys for me, alright? Can I count on you?”

            Lina nodded, biting her lip, and turned to run towards the tavern. Addison stood and shared a look with Varric.

            “I suppose we should find out who’s trying to attack us now,” Varric said mildly, a stark contrast to Addison’s already uneasy, quickening pulse. “Hey, kid,” Varric said to a boy Addison recognized as a stable hand. “You should get out of here. Go to the tavern or the chantry.”

            “I—yes, ser,” the boy stuttered.

            “Shit,” Varric said as the gates opened. “Shouldn’t they be closing the gates rather than opening them?”

            “You would think,” Addison answered. She caught sight of Ambassador Montilyet’s golden puffed sleeves over the heads of the soldiers who were gathering.

            “Master Tethras!” A villager Addison vaguely recognized but had no name to put to the face stepped in front of them. “What’s happening? Is Haven under attack?”

            “I don’t know,” Varric answered, glancing at the open gates behind them and the soldiers gathering. “But you might want to wait somewhere safe until we find out. Tell everyone to meet at the chantry and keep their heads down until we hear more news.”

            “What about the village?” The woman asked, her face twisting with fear. “If they’re coming from the south, they might have already passed through.”

            _The village,_ Addison realized with horror as the bells stopped ringing, mages now running past them, staffs in hand. _The hamlet—Eppie, Carson, all the refugees._ “Varric,” Addison breathed, her chest squeezing as she looked to the dwarf.

            “I can’t say anything until we found out what’s going on. But what’s important is that everyone in Haven gets to the chantry,” Varric said, though there was something in his eyes that didn’t give Addison much reassurance.

            “Yes, Master Tethras,” the woman answered before she turned and fled, calling someone’s name as she went.

            “Let’s find out what insanity is happening this time,” Varric said to Addison, and she didn’t need to be told twice.

            They hurried to the gates, ending up squished among soldiers, mages, and scouts as they all ran forward. “To the trebuchets,” Knight-Captain Rylen shouted from somewhere through the gates, “Mages, Commander Cullen gave you sanction to engage. Fight to hold Haven!”

            Addison flinched as a soldier pushed his way past her, sword drawn. This was so much worse than anything she had imagined. She could see beyond the gates now as the soldiers charged out.

            The approaching force was massive. Just beyond the open gates were Templars—no, _things—_ surging forward. Haven was under attack from red monsters in Templar armor.

            “Addison!”

            She looked on in horror, still standing just before the gate, mages now sprinting beyond the walls. Cullen appeared before her, his sword drawn. “The village,” Addison grasped onto the thought, trying to make sense of the battle before her. “Cullen, the villagers and the refugees in the hamlet—they’re right in the path—”

            “Get to safety,” Cullen said, striding toward her. “Take a soldier back with you to get some of the healing reserves you have and then—”

            “Cullen, the villagers!” Addison raised her voice, unsure whether he hadn’t heard or was simply ignoring her. “We have to send forces, or these Templars will—”

            “ _There is no time_.” Cullen glanced over his shoulder back at the fight, and the clash of metal drew Addison’s eyes to the hill that led up to Haven, the Templar monsters already knocking down Inquisition soldiers, mages darting back. “Addison.” He looked at her again, something in golden eyes burning and leaving no room for argument. Here, was the Commander, and something told Addison they were fighting for their survival.

            Addison felt her jaw clench as her heart slammed again and again. Carson, Eppie, and all the people that Addison had watched heal and make a new home for themselves under the protection of the Inquisition close to the lake were in the path of this enemy horde. Cullen wanted to leave them. “You gave them the Inquisition’s protection,” Addison’s voice was dangerously tight, her eyes already brimming with furious tears. Carson was finally running again, and for what? He would be abandoned by the Inquisition, and Addison had promised—

            “Sloane, Brentson, go with the apothecary,” Cullen was already looking away from Addison, barking orders to a group of soldiers to Addison’s left. “Take whatever she gives you and use it to set up caches at strategic locations.”

            “Understood, Commander,” the woman saluted sharply.

            “Cullen, listen to me,” Addison found herself shouting through gritted teeth, her face contorting. Eppie played with Rhys, sometimes even learning what his hand signs meant and answering him in kind. “We have to—”

            He was striding away as another group of mages rushed past Addison, someone catching her arm in the process and sending her stumbling a few steps back.

            “Apothecary, we don’t have a lot of time,” one of the soldiers said.

            Cullen had already disappeared from sight, but Addison could see the forces of Templar monsters moving toward them on the mountain. They were being cut off from any escape, and would reach Haven soon. There were too many to keep at bay for long. It was going to be a massacre.

            Addison squeezed her eyes shut for only a moment, nails digging into her palms as her hands curled into fists. She was letting them die. Maker, she hoped they could flee. She hoped they had time to escape, and that she’d helped to heal them to the point that they were all capable of making it to safety.

            She couldn’t do anything for the refugee hamlet now, but she had Haven to worry about.

            When she opened her eyes, she nodded to the soldiers Cullen had instructed to accompany her—Sloane and Bretson— turned, and took off at a run. The villagers had dispersed, leaving a clear route for her over fallen mugs and abandoned plates as she tore up the path to the apothecary cabin.

            There had never been an attack this large on the Crossroads. And she’d never seen monsters like the Templars in red before. Demons, yes, but nothing that human and that twisted at the same time. There were going to be injuries and casualties, and they needed to be prepared.

            Addison threw the door to the cabin open to find Adan already inside. “Healing potions needed?” He asked flatly, all signs of drunkenness and levity gone. He didn’t like the same man who had been dancing with Gerta only ten minutes before.

            Sloane and Brenton had followed her, now standing in the doorway to the cabin, muttering to each other about the best points to drop the caches.

            “As many as we can get,” Addison answered, eyeing the bag Adan already had in hand. “If we have lyrium in stock we need that for the mages as well.”

            Adan nodded. “Do they think we can hold the main gates?”

            Addison paused, trying to clear her head and force her jaw to unclench. Anger and fear would do nothing for her in this situation. “I don’t know.”

            “Right, well. The last thing we want is for all our stocks to be destroyed. If everyone’s moving to the chantry for safeguard, we should get everything we can carry there.” Adan passed the sack to her, glass clinging as bottles jostled around inside.

            “Sloane, Bretson—grab that sack over there and fill them with any of the dark green bottles or the lyrium potions you see in that box,” Addison pointed as she spoke, already moving to the side of the room to help them. “Try not to break any, though we’re not exactly transporting them safely.”

            “Got it,” the woman answered. “Bretson, you hold the bag.”

            They worked efficiently, placing bottles as carefully as possible into the cloth sacks in a tense silence. Addison focused on every movement, but it was impossible not to wonder how far the bulk of the opposing forces had come, and if the refugees at the hamlet were able to escape.

            Addison helped them empty a box, then eyed the two bags full of potions. “This should be enough for emergency reserves. If you can get the injured close enough to the chantry, then I can handle it from there.” She’d also given stitches several times under Sister Maren’s watchful eye, and could do it decently enough.

            The soldiers left, Addison barely registering their exit as she turned to join Adan in pulling drying elfroot and deep mushrooms from the racks. “Ever seen the aftermath of a battle this size?” Addison asked quietly, though as Adan was a researcher she highly doubted it.

            “No.” Adan confirmed as he grabbed thin canvas bags meant for dried herbs and began placing the leaves inside.

            “Right,” Addison muttered, her nerves now only quietly buzzing rather than rattling through her as she joined Adan.

            Sounds of fighting were growing closer, shouts and clashes that made Addison look over her shoulder at the window. It was too dark to see anything, but a high-pitched scream was enough to make Addison glance to Adan. “We should hurry,” she said, pulling the drawstrings closed on a bag of elfroot.

            There was a strange screech that seemed to come from above, rattling the cabin itself and making Addison wonder if the sky itself was going to fall on them.

            “Don’t need to tell me twice,” Adan’s eyes flicked to the window as well. “Is that smoke you smell?”

            Addison began shoving the smaller canvas sacks into her own bag. “I can’t smell anything but bloody elfr—” she broke off, seeing light dancing through the window. _Those are flames_ , she realized. “Adan, fire.”

            They were grabbing at the remainder of the potions now, no longer careful in their movements. Another shout sounded like it was just outside, and Adan growled as he abandoned the blood lotus, “Just take what you can and—”

            Something slammed into the side of the cabin, and Addison jumped, backing away. “Adan—”

            “Get out!” Adan shoved her suddenly, pushing her toward the door. The flames outside the window had engulfed it—the Templars had lit the cabin on fire. And wood cabins, Addison knew from the Crossroads, burned quickly.

            There was another loud thump on the other side of the door, and Addison hissed, “They’re right outside. If we go out now, they’ll cut us down.”

            Adan’s arms were full with the supplies, and he looked ready to throw them to the ground as he swore. “So we stay in here and roast to death?”

            Addison shook her head, taking one of Adan’s packs in her left hand as her mind went to a dangerous, quiet, calm. “We’re getting out.”

            She strode to the back window, eyes burning from the smoke that was now filtering into the cabin. She pushed the window open with her right hand. It was small, but not so small she couldn’t crawl through. She tossed the sack outside and looked at Adan as she shoved her workstation under the window. “Come on, you first.”

            “They’ll be out there too, you know,” Adan said, though he moved forward regardless, tossing his own bags out the window. It was their best chance, and he knew it.

            “Just grab the supplies and run to the chantry.” Addison coughed, smoke burning through her nose and throat. “It’s not like we have much of a choice. Roast in here or make a break for it.”

            Adan shook his head and grumbled under his breath only to cough as well, and then climbed up on the table. Addison turned, holding her sleeve over her nose and mouth as she looked at the flames slowly engulfing the front of the cabin, smoke thick in the air and making her eyes water.

            “Come on!” Adan hissed from the other side of the window.

            Addison wasted no time clambering onto the table and shifting so she could stick one leg out the window, followed by the other so she was able to wriggle and drop to her feet on the ground behind the cabin, smacking her head on the window frame in the process.

            Wincing at the bump she’d soon have on her forehead, she grabbed the remainder of the supplies, Adan’s hands already full, adjusted her bag, and peered at the back path toward the chantry.

            “We just have to run,” she whispered, shouting still filling the smoky night air behind them. The flames from Haven’s burning buildings cast flickering, eerie light around them.

            “What are you waiting for then?” Adan barked under his breath, turning with clear nervousness, not actually ready to go when there might be Templars around the corner to intercept them.

            Addison pushed past him, glancing around the cabin.

            There were flashes of purple light from the other side of Haven, rivets of lightning in the air below. The mages were trying to hold the Templars in red back. “They’re preoccupied,” Addison muttered grimly, looking back at Adan. “Let’s go.”

            They made a break for it, weighed down by clinking bottles and bags, but Addison’s pulse was racing again, making every footstep quicken as she flew to the chantry doors, Adan behind her.

            The doors were barely open, guarded by an Inquisition soldier as he waved them inside, clearer air and hushed voices greeting them as they stuttered to a stop, breathing fast and Addison’s frame shaking as she glanced behind her, unsure if they had really made it to the chantry.

            Chancellor Roderick was there too, giving orders and looking worse for ware, his face bloodied as a boy Addison had never seen before supported him.

            “We’ve got medical supplies,” Addison managed to say as another Inquisition soldier approached. Her eyes skipped around the room, already finding injured men and women toward the edges of the room, the eyes of terrified villagers watching her.

            Cullen was there too, speaking to Knight-Captain Rylen.

            “I’ll take them,” someone said, but Addison barely noticed the sacks she was carrying being taken as Rose rushed at her from the side.

            “Addie!” Rose’s arms were around her in an instant, followed by a hiccupping sob. “Where were you? Lina said that you told her to find me, but I thought something might’ve happened and I—”

            “I’m fine, Rose,” Addison’s mind was tumbling, and somewhere in the chantry a baby was crying. She grasped Rose’s arms as she stepped back. “Are you hurt?”

            Rose shook her head, but there was something strange in her eyes. The doors opened again, this time Ilara running through them, Seeker Cassandra, Solas, and Varric following her as the soldiers sealed the door shut. Were they making their stand here? Ilara moved toward Cullen, and Addison turned back to Rose.

            Lina was standing behind her mother’s skirts, watching Addison with tears tracking down her cheeks. Addison’s hands were still trembling as she tried to collect her thoughts. Given that she could’ve been burnt to a crisp only a minute before, Addison felt she was doing relatively well at staying calm.

            “Lina, are you alright?” Addison asked, checking her over for any injuries.

            “She’s fine,” Rose said quickly. “But Addie—”

            “Rhys?” Addison listed, glancing around the chantry.

            Cullen was arguing with Ilara about something, the strange boy who’d been with Chancellor Roderick shifting uncomfortably as he spoke.

            “Addie,” Rose said her name again, and Addison looked back up to meet a doe-eyed stare, with something almost like guilt behind it. “He was with Flissa. He was with Flissa, but Flissa came back late, because there had been a fire at the Singing Maiden.”

            “Rose.” Addison frowned as she felt her heart go from beating too quickly to stuttering in her chest. “Where is Rhys?”

            “I don’t know,” Rose’s face crumpled. “Maker, I don't know. Addie, I swear, I thought he and Flissa were right behind me—”

            “He was at the tavern?” Addison’s voice turned thick with raw horror, her grip tightening on Rose’s arms, fingers twisting into the fabric of her dress. She’d seen the tavern in flames. If he was still there…

            “Addie,” Flissa called hoarsely. She was leaning against the wall only a few feet away. “I tried to get him out, but the tavern caught fire. I was crushed underneath. I tried to push him out from under a fallen beam, but I don’t know—”

            “ _Where is Rhys_?” Addison released her hold of Rose, air rushing from her lungs as if she’d been punched. They’d lost him. She’d lost him.

            Flissa broke down in tears as Cullen shouted something behind Addison, telling them to move out. She had no idea where in the damn world they would move _to_.

            Everything was moving too quickly as Addison struggled to keep upright, her legs suddenly shaking as if they would give out.

            Ilara was leaving the chantry and heading back out into Haven, Solas and the others still with her, but Knight-Captain Rylen was gesturing for people to follow him deeper into the chantry, down the stairs. Were they really just going to hide in the basement of the chantry and hope that they could make their stand there?

            “Rose, take Lina and go,” Addison muttered, pulling off her bag from her shoulder and passing it to the woman.

            Rose hiccupped, fat tears still rolling down her face. “Addie, what are you doing?”

            Addison didn’t answer, turning back as the villagers and Inquisition soldiers all moved against her, following the Knight-Captain behind her as she walked to the chantry doors. She pulled on the old iron handles, the air already smokier and Rose calling her name behind her.

            _Maker, never forgive me if I can’t find him,_ Addison thought as she stepped out of the chantry into the night.

 

* * *

 

            Someone was shouting Addison’s name, making Cullen turn sharply from where he stood beside Thirrin. “Take up the rear,” Cullen ordered, and Thirrin saluted smartly.

            _What’s happening now?_ Cullen could only wonder grimly as he moved quickly through the Inquisition troops and civilians that filed down the stairs. He’d seen Addison from the corner of his eye earlier, and she’d looked safe. Though Maker knew what unimaginable event occurred now. He wouldn’t put it past the night for another dragon to materialize in the chantry. Not with Samson of all people leading an army of Templars with red crystals growing from them and a dragon appearing with the Elder One.

            Cullen made it to the top of the steps and back out into the main hall to see Addison’s friend—Rose—standing by the chantry doors shouting.

            Cullen’s first instinct was to step behind her and slam the doors shut, considering the Red Templars would be swarming Haven now, even if the Herald cut a path through them. But the girl, Lina, stopped him first, crying and reaching up to him.

            “Addie—please, you have to help Addie.” She had a small voice, but full, pleading dark eyes that made him pause.

            “Addison? Where is she?” Cullen immediately looked up. He hadn’t thought she was hurt. She’d been standing, maybe even arguing, as was her typical mode of conversation.

            Rose heard them then, finally letting the doors close as she stumbled over to Cullen, her expression desperate. “Commander, Addison’s out there.”

            Cullen blinked, realizing she meant that Addison had gone back out into Haven. That surely was the reason Rose had been shouting her name. But he was so sure he’d seen her only moments before. “She was just in the chantry,” Cullen said quickly, glancing behind him as most of the Inquisition filed out, his soldiers that were still able helping the injured.

            “She was,” Rose answered through tears, and Cullen stared at her.

            “She went back out?” He was incredulous. Of all the stupid, reckless things she could’ve done, why would she have gone out into a Red Templar-filled Haven again?

            Rose nodded, her words slurring together as she tried to explain. “Rhys might still be out there. Flissa was trapped in the tavern and tried to get him out, but he disappeared.”

            It was almost a hum in Cullen’s ears as he tried to reason through the situation. Maker’s Breath, he was the commander of the Inquisition. He’d remained steely calm through all of this mess, and now he was fighting not to snap at the ridiculousness of Addison putting herself in such obvious danger.

            _She’s foolish and reckless with reason, at least._ Cullen closed his eyes for only a moment before they snapped open, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. “Follow the rest of the Inquisition to safety. There’s a route that leads out of Haven and into the mountains.”

            He had Rylen in the lead and Thirrin watching their back, so he wasn’t abandoning his post. If he was lucky, he would find other survivors and have the time to make it to the remains of the tavern and bring Addison back with him.

            “Commander, please. Addie. Please.”

            Cullen nodded tersely once before drawing his sword. “I’ll find her.”


	15. Discoveries and Memories

            Cullen threw off the Red Templar with a grunt, the sickening smell of tainted lyrium mixing with the haze of smoke. He ran his sword once more through the form of the slumping Templar, not wanting any attacks from behind.

            He’d made it halfway to the tavern, catching up with Lavellan in the process. Cassandra had given him a questioning look but hadn’t pressed, and the two of them took the lead as they fought their way back through Haven. They had made it down the hill toward the gates and the tavern only a few more steps before another group of Templars came from their right. Cullen had to rush forward to intercept them as Solas conjured a wall of ice to keep the Templars from getting to him.

            Cullen rammed into the nearest red-lyrium mutated Templar who was advancing on Varric, thinking he could throw it off balance. But these Templars were no longer human, with an impossible strength that didn’t even allow for the thing to stumble backward.

            Instead, it swung at Cullen, who barely raised his sword in time to block the blow. The red lyrium was glowing too brightly, causing his blood to pump with an increasing tempo and making him warmer at the pulse of red crystals growing from the Templar’s armor and skin.

            A bolt of purple lightning jolted down in front of him, a signature of Lavellan’s, and the Templar twitched, its body jerking and giving Cullen an opportunity to swipe his sword forward, slicing the thing’s neck. It crumpled, and Cullen glanced to see Cassandra deal the finishing blow to the Templar that Solas had frozen.

            “I’ll watch our flanks,” Cassandra said, falling back slightly as they moved forward again, not willing to take another attack from the side that grew too close to the less-armored.

            “Wait,” Lavellan said quietly, making them all stop in their tracks. “That’s… Addie?”

            Cullen’s eyes flew to Lavellan, then followed her gaze. It was the route toward the edge of Haven that led from the smoldering remains of the tavern to the apothecary cabin. It was definitely Addison, stumbling in the darkness and clutching something close to her chest.

            _She found the boy,_ Cullen realized, though it seemed so impossible.

            In only a moment, the relief that hit Cullen dissipated and he found himself running alongside Lavellan toward Addison.

            Red Templars were following her.

            There were three of them, one armed with a bow and the other two with swords drawn, chasing Addison as she ran. The archer was aiming, but there was no way Cullen would reach him in time—or reach Addison in time.

            Lavellan was suddenly no longer beside him, but Cullen continued to run all the same.

            Violet streaked through the sky, hitting the archer as Cullen thanked the Maker for Lavellan’s competence. He immediately switched directions to try to make it to the Templars armed with swords.

            Addison seemed unaware that any help was coming her way, though her steps were slowed as she carried the boy in her arms. Cullen was coming in from her side, trying to cut off the two Templars still rushing at her and catch them before they could reach her.

            But Addison tripped in the distance, falling over a body that sent her sprawling beside the broken beams of smoldering wood outside the apothecary, flames before her and Templars behind her.

            He wasn’t going to make it in time. He was too far, and she glanced over her shoulder, though not at Cullen. She probably could only see the Templar that was almost to her, leaving her to clutch the boy protectively and fold over on herself, as if bracing for the blow.

            He was too slow, the Templar already raising his sword. Something in the back of Cullen’s mind screamed as he saw the blade swing down.

            A flash of green erupted around her, and though the force of the blow sent her crumpling further in on herself, it was the Templar that stumbled backward as his own sword stopped as if swung against metal and bounced off again.

            Cullen reached him then, slamming with full force into the Templar, his own sword imbedding itself in the thing’s side through the weak spot in that armor Cullen knew all too well.

            He had to use his boot to shove the body back off from his sword, turning to fight the next armed Templar, though the thing was already on its knees, an arrow protruding from the back of his neck.

            Cullen dealt another blow, letting the Templar fall away. The archer lay dead several paces away, and for a few moments Cullen could only hear blood roaring in his ears as he turned to Addison and grasped her arm with his free hand, all but hauling her to her feet.

            Her eyes were still squeezed shut, and Rhys’s face was buried in her shoulder.

            “Addison,” Cullen said finally, fighting the urge to drop his sword and gather her completely in his arms.

            She’d nearly died. If it hadn’t been for Solas’s barrier at that last moment, she would’ve died because Cullen was moments too late. _By the Maker’s grace, she’s alive,_ Cullen could only think as she slowly opened her eyes.

            If he had lost her—

            “Is she safe? What in the Maker’s name is she doing out here?” Cassandra’s voice came from behind them.

            It was Solas who was at her side, doing what Cullen couldn’t as Solas reached forward to touch Addison’s cheek, then quickly moved his hand on Rhys’s head. “They are unharmed.”

            Addison let out a shuddering breath. “I—I—”

            “You went to find him,” Solas said quietly, seeming to pick up on the occurrence of events quickly. “ _Ma serannas._ But now you must hurry back to the chantry. There is a path that leads to safety.”

            Addison nodded, though she still seemed as if she was seeing something faraway. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her unfocused eyes turned to Cullen, seeming to sharpen. “Th—thank you.”

            “Cullen, you’re not accompanying us to the trebuchet, are you?” Cassandra asked, tone clipped as she glanced back to the chantry. “They’ll need you to lead the way.”

            “I know,” Cullen answered. “I sent Rylen ahead, but I’ll catch up to them now. Can you make it through the remaining Templars?”

            Cassandra’s expression was hard. “We have to. Take Addison back. With the Maker’s blessing, we will see each other through the passage.”

            A look of understanding passed between them as Cullen adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword. “Throw everything you have at that thing,” he said.

            “Trust me, Commander. We will.” It was Lavellan who answered, hardened steel and quiet anger.

            “To the chantry, then,” Cullen said to Addison, the young apothecary visibly shaking. “I’ll be right here.”

            Addison nodded again, her feet unsteady as she moved forward. Cullen kept his word, staying so close his shoulder brushed hers, though he was constantly watching for signs of Templars drawing close. Haven itself was growing quieter, with the red lyrium Templars who had come this far cut down by Cullen and the others minutes before.

            Cullen shoved open the chantry doors to find an empty hall, papers in disarray, candlesticks littering the floor. “It’s down the stairs.” Cullen’s words echoed.

            “What about the others?” Addison asked as they moved through the chantry, her voice quiet and raw.

            “They’ll follow as soon as they fire the trebuchet,” Cullen answered, as he couldn’t think of the alternative if they didn’t return. They would have to run to make it back before their path was sealed from the avalanche that would ensue, but he had faith.

            Moving down the steps, Cullen could already hear people ahead through the back tunnel. He sheathed his sword at the base of the stairs, Addison still a few paces behind. He turned to watch her.

            Her face was pale, flickering torchlight from the walls illuminating shock in her eyes. But her lips were pressed into their typical stubborn line, and she continued forward, arms protectively wrapped around the boy in her arms whose hands were locked behind her neck in a vise grip.

            _Brave,_ Cullen thought to himself as Addison finished making it down the steps and stopped, giving Cullen the smallest nod. _She is far too brave for her own good._

            Cullen took a slow breath, realizing that it felt like he hadn’t had the chance to go through the motions since he’d heard Addison was back out in Haven. He had only thought of finding her, fighting his way through Templars mutated by red lyrium for the chance to bring her back to safety.

            “Let’s go,” Cullen said softly. She was alive and whole in front of him now, and he knew he had been terrified at the thought of losing her.

 

* * *

 

            If Addison hated the cold before, she despised it now.

            No, more than despising it—she might actually die in it.

            The Inquisition was stranded in the Frostbacks, with their Herald presumed dead or missing and their Commander and Seeker gone looking for her. They were bloodied and barely alive. The supplies Addison and Adan had saved were already stretched thin, and Addison had sewn more stitches in the last several hours than she had ever sewn before throughout her entire life.

            Her hands were covered in red, and she wanted nothing more than to sit down in the damn blizzard and scream. She wanted to cry, hit something, be held by someone, and laugh at the monstrosity of it all at the same time.

            Instead, she stood a little away from the camp, staring into the night. The winds at least had begun to slow, but now all that was left was a bone-deep cold and thin flakes of ever-persistent snow.

            Rhys was finally sleeping somewhere behind her in a tent with Lina and Rose. Addison wasn’t sure she could ever forgive Rose, or herself, for almost losing Rhys. He was so close to being another death in Haven—though she was just as close as well, if it hadn’t been for a magic barrier running over her skin from Solas, and Cullen facing down the Templars in red behind her.

            And all of Haven had been a slaughter.

            Addison scrubbed at her numb fingers, trying to get the blood out from all the little lines in her knuckles and palms. She’d already lost one scout to an arrow that had punctured his lung. How high would the body count be once they accounted for everyone who died in Haven and in the Frostbacks?

            She was rubbing her skin raw now, grinding her teeth together as shivers wracked her shoulders. _This isn’t supposed to be happening. This is all supposed to be over._

Something clawed at the back of her throat and Addison choked around it, her knees bending without her permission as she gave in and sat for the first time in hours, ignoring the thin layer of snow packed under her feet as she pulled up her legs in front of her and wrapped her arms around them.

            “Apothecary!”

            Addison’s rested her head on the tops of her knees as her face contorted, tears escaping without her permission.

            The voice was calling from somewhere behind her in the camp.

            _I want to go home,_ Addison shivered again, cold seeping through her and leaving her with only numbness.

            “Addison!”

            Her breath shook, but she raised her chin slowly, taking only a moment to wipe her cheeks with the back of a frigid hand. “Here,” she barked, clambering to her feet with the pop of her hip.

            She followed the sound of her name being called back to the main camp, where the Inquisition members who weren’t badly injured were finishing setting up tents. She found Sister Maren, Adan, and Stitches, one of the Iron Bull’s Chargers, all crowded around one figure.

            “Addison, she’s going into shock,” Sister Maren said quickly. “It was a wound on her abdomen that I stitched, but—”

            “It was probably too deep for surface stitches to take care of,” Addison muttered, kneeling next to the soldier, eyes sweeping over the bandages the woman had bled through. “We need a surgeon to do internal mending, and we don’t have that option.”

            “A stimulant to speed the effects of the healing potion?” Adan asked from over her shoulder.

            Addison shook her head. “The last thing we need is her heart working any faster for a sustained period of time—it’s probably already beating far too quickly to compensate for the blood loss.” Her eyes narrowed, and she took a steadying breath. “I think we just need to re-open the stitches.”

            She didn’t need to look at anyone’s face since their horror was clear in their voices as Adan growled, “Are you insane?”

            “Re-opening the stitches would only cause more bleeding!” Sister Maren protested.

            “We need to cauterize the wound.” Addison grasped for the semblance of calm. “I’ve only ever seen it done, but…”

            “I’ve done it,” Stitches said, leaving Addison to feel a brief rush of gratitude toward him.

            The patient groaned then, her eyes moving beneath dark eyelids.

            “Whatever we do, we need to do it soon,” Sister Maren said quickly, reaching into Addison’s bag that was deposited in the snow beside the soldier.

            “You open the stitches, then” Addison instructed, knowing very well that her fingers barely moved due to the cold.

            Sister Maren was quick about it, as Adan and Stitches hurried off to find what they needed. Addison tried not to flinch when the soldier cried out hoarsely. Cauterizing the wound could worsen the woman’s shock, but blood loss would kill her more assuredly.

            They were all silent as Addison and Adan held the woman’s shoulders down and Stitches pressed a glowing piece of metal to the wound.

            The woman screamed, and Addison ground her teeth together as she fought to keep her still. It was over before the screams had died out, and Sister Maren quickly finished stitching the wound again. The smell of hot iron fusing bits of human together was not an appealing smell, and Addison tried to not to breathe as she pressed a cloth to the woman’s abdomen.

            “We’ll know if it helped in a few more hours,” Stitches said, sounding every bit as tired as Addison felt.

            Addison nodded slowly, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand as Sister Maren took the cloth from her to continue to try to staunch the residual bleeding. “I should’ve trained to become a surgeon,” Addison said under her breath.

            “It’s never too late,” Adan muttered.

            Addison laughed without humor. “Speak for yourself. You all should get some rest. I’ll keep an eye on her, and—”

            “Addison!” It was someone off from further back in the camp again.

            They all sighed in unison.

            “You need to go. I can stay,” Sister Maren told her, giving what Addison thought was supposed to be a look of assurance. Instead, it came across as if Sister Maren was just as close to breaking point as Addison was.

            “I’ll stay as well,” Adan mumbled.

            “Come find me if I can do anything,” Addison heaved herself to her feet, the bundle of hysteria still present, but fortunately pushed down to the bottom of her stomach where she resigned to lock it away.

            It was Seeker Cassandra a few paces away, and Addison’s exhausted brain managed to alert her that this was important. _She’s back._ Addison blinked as she walked over to Cassandra. “Ilara?”

            Cassandra nodded curtly.

            _She’s alive,_ Addison thought, exhaling deeply. But she took in the look on Cassandra’s face. “Injured?”

            “Hypothermia. She is in the tent at the edge of the camp.”

            “Got it.” Addison turned quickly, stopping to grab the bag that held raw supplies. There was no chance they’d had cold resistance tonics in stock—she’d have to make her own.

            Whispers of the Herald were already travelling around the camp as Addison hurried to the tent, finding Ilara lying on a cot inside, covered in cloaks. Solas was sitting by her, his hands clasped around one of hers. The famed Herald of Andraste had survived certain death, and that was surely what was circulating around the camp at that very moment. But to Addison, Ilara looked small, her head turned to the side and brown skin waxy even in the torchlight.

            Cullen and Leliana immediately looked up as Addison drew near, and Addison felt their eyes bearing into her. “Do you have what you need for a cold resistance tonic?” Leliana asked sharply.

            “The raw materials, yes. I can crush everything with my hands if someone can get water and a canteen to mix everything in,” Addison said, already reaching into the bag to pull out the spindleweed and elfroot.

            She made the tonic quickly, barely aware of Cullen and Leliana talking near her or Solas’s quiet, Elven words to Ilara, or Josephine’s whispers to Cassandra.

            Ilara coughed herself awake as Addison finished crumbling the spindleweed with her hands. In a rasping, barely audible voice, Ilara told confusing bits and pieces of the Elder One named Corypheus and his promise to destroy the world, and how she had somehow stolen his power with the mark on her hand.

            It seemed no one knew quite how to react, with Cassandra staring in disbelief and Leliana muttering strange things under her breath about the throne of the Maker.

            None of it made sense to Addison, but somehow she found she believed it all. After all, it had already been the end of the world several times over in the last few months. She finished making the cold tonic and passed it to Solas, who helped Ilara drink it before she lost consciousness again.

            Addison watched Ilara’s face, wondering if it was just wishful thinking that made her cheeks look as if they were returning to a more normal color.

            “I believe she is in no immediate danger,” Solas said after Josephine had adjusted the cloaks on top of Ilara again, the ambassador’s gold and purple dress looking extremely out of place in the dingy tent in the middle of a dark mountain.

            Solas’s words let some of the tension, if albeit a very small dosage, from the tent and it began to clear out. It only gave way to the sounds of arguing beyond, and Addison looked at Solas with a slow breath. “I can make more tonic if she needs it.”

            “Thank you,” Solas said quietly.

            Addison rubbed her face with the back of her hand as she stood, hesitating for a moment as she considered the woman who had become her friend.

            Addison had never really believed that Ilara was the Herald of Andraste, just as Ilara had never believed it herself. But whatever she was, she had nearly died giving everyone in Haven the chance to escape and then faced the monster that led the attack—this Corypheus that claimed to be a god.

            She owed her life—Rose’s life, Lina’s life, Rhys’s life—to Ilara. Whatever had brought Ilara to Ferelden made the Inquisition very, very lucky.

            “You should take this moment’s quiet to sleep.” Solas’s lilting voice made Addison remember that she was still standing under the tent, staring blankly at Ilara and shivering in the cold.

            “Right.” Addison said more to herself than to Solas. In truth, she needed to check how much of their reserves were left, and begin watering down potions if needed. “Yes. Let me know if there’s anything more I can do.”

            She was in a fog as she turned to make her way back through the camp, trying to remember how many poultices they had left as of an hour ago. Perhaps she could water the poultices down as well, though they—

            “Addison.”

            Addison paused, willing herself not to just drop to the ground again. But there was a warm hand on her arm that had her looking behind her.

            “Cullen,” she stated, barely retaining basic observational skills with her sluggish brain.

            His face pulled into something Addison identified as worry. “Are you alright?”

            Addison rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ve been better.” _That’s the understatement of the century._ “You?”

            His hand was still on her upper-arm, and Addison had to resist the very strong urge to just lean into him and his fluffy coat. There was a pull to him, the soothing tone of his voice that made Addison feel a bit calmer with no good reason behind why she felt that way.

            “Perhaps I’ve been better as well,” he answered, seeming to move in closer. Or it could be her imagination. “You should rest.”

            “In a perfect world, I would fall asleep right now on a feather mattress in front of a roaring fire.” Addison pushed loose strands of hair away from her face, her eyelids drooping. “But we don’t live in a perfect world, do we,” she finished flatly.

            Cullen sighed deeply. “I assume this is your way of saying you still have work to do.”

            “You assume correctly.” She sniffed in the chilly night air as she searched his face. It was mostly out of habit, as she’d done it so often to check for his health in the light of lyrium withdrawal. But now she only found exhaustion on his features and concern in his eyes. It was only a fraction of the intensity with which he’d looked at her after her near-death encounter with the red Templars in Haven. It was almost as if he’d been just as terrified as she was, and she’d been the one nearly cleaved in two. Addison felt the same fear tugging at her again, reliving the moment as she swallowed thickly.

            "Addison?" His hand on her arm squeezed gently, something of a reassurance.

            “Thank you. For earlier. If… if you and the others hadn’t come when you did, I don’t think Rhys and I would be here.”

            “I didn’t make it to you in time.” He said softly. Now it was definitely not her imagination. Cullen was much closer now than before, Addison tilting her chin up ever so slightly to meet his eyes. She was so tempted just to rest her forehead on his chest, the desire to do so almost overwhelming. She had wanted to be held earlier, but now she very specifically realized she wanted to be held _by Cullen._ “If Solas hadn’t put a barrier over you, I don’t know—” He broke off with a slight shake of his head. “I... We lost too many people in Haven.”

            “I know,” Addison murmured, feeling sadness creep through her chest again. “Cullen, I…” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer, but she forced herself to ask regardless. “Do you think the refugees in the hamlet and the villagers near the lake were able to escape?”

            There was a painful silence for several moments before Cullen averted his eyes, looking over Addison’s shoulder. “There’s a possibility, but I can’t say anything for certain until we reach a stable enough position here to send scouts back to Haven and the surrounding areas.”

            Addison nodded slightly, focusing for a moment on filling her lungs and emptying them again. Now even Cullen was not enough to stave off the heaviness again. She’d promised Eppie and Carson. She’d _promised._

            Hysteria threatened to rattle her, making Addison shake her head and step back from Cullen. He let go of her arm quickly, and Addison realized she’d forgotten he was still holding her at all.

            “I have to check our reserves,” she muttered, unsure about her own emotional stability as she turned her back on Cullen and made it back to the center of camp where the supply bags had been gathered.

            Stitches was there, sleeping against a box, head bowed and chin tucked against his chest. The fire crackling close to them was inviting enough, and Addison sighed to herself as she sank to the ground across from Stitches. She pulled out the remaining potions, counting and then collecting empty bottles to begin portioning what was left. Her thoughts returned again and again to the hamlet, her own words beginning to haunt her. _I promise,_ she’d said. She promised that the Inquisition would be there to protect them, and that she’d be right behind them should anything happen to Carson at the hamlet.

            But where had she been? She fled into the mountains with everyone else, leaving the hamlet and the villagers to the red Templars.

            Addison winced, the silence of the camp eating away at her. The Inquisition soldiers who weren’t injured remained outside the tents, patrolling or speaking quietly to each other. But Addison just wanted to drown out the noise of her own thoughts, the guilt that she knew was so deserved.

            _What are the chances they survived?_ She wondered as she added water to the bottles now half-filled with healing potions.

            Tears prickling at the back of her eyes again, Addison began humming quietly, determined to keep herself working instead of unproductively dissolving into a sobbing mess.

            She couldn’t let anyone else die. Maker, at least everyone who’d come this far had to make it through the night.

            It was hard to hum around the lump in her throat, but anything was better than the deafening silence of her own guilt. She didn’t want to make promises again. She didn’t want to have to break them.

            “I have not heard that song for quite some time.” Mother Giselle’s soft voice cut through Addison’s sleep-deprived haze as she shook potion bottles to mix them.

            Addison wasn’t quite sure what she was humming. “What song?” She could only rasp, less of a whisper and more of a croak.

            “It is a chantry hymn. One of hope during dark hours. It is meant for times like these.” Mother Giselle smiled slightly, her eyes sympathetic as she gazed down at Addison.

            “I wasn’t aware it was a chantry hymn. I don’t remember many.” Addison returned her attention to mixing the potions, not liking the comforting way Mother Giselle was looking at her. What Addison needed wasn’t warmth and kindness, but something to keep her awake and pushing through the night.

            "Sometimes we find old memories resurface when we need them most." Mother Giselle intoned.

            "Hm." Addison didn't have the patience for mystical and or religious talk, continuing to shake the little bottles with tired, slow movements. When Addison glanced up again, Mother Giselle was gone, leaving Addison to finish stretching out the supplies alone, with only a sleeping Stitches to keep her company. But she refused to fall asleep. If there was an emergency, she needed to be ready. 

            After she finished the potions, she began making rounds to check on the injured, checking bandages and stitchings.

            The soldier with the cauterized wound was in terrible condition but in a _stable_ terrible condition, which was all Addison could truly ask for.

            She was unfeeling after a couple hours, toes frozen through her boots and mind only occupied with the thought, _Just make it through the night,_ as she moved from person to person, forcing her eyes to stay open.

            So when singing reached her painfully cold ears as she finished adjusting the bandage on one scout’s arm, she wondered at first if she was hallucinating. It was the tune she had hummed earlier, the one that Mother Giselle commented on.

            But she wasn’t just hearing things, numb feet carrying her toward the center of camp. The Inquisition was moving around her in the gray chill of the early hours of the morning. They were gathering to it, Addison following them as another shiver wracked through her body.

            Words Addison had long forgotten surrounded her and she stood, blinking tiredly and squinting at the scene before her, Ilara at the center of it all. It would not be long before the sun rose in the distance, cold morning air already whispering through the Frostbacks.

            They had made it through the night.

            _Andraste’s bloody knickers,_ Addison thought as she looked at the Inquisition, _I think I can finally sleep._


	16. Uncertainty

            It was hard to do medical checks carrying a small child, but Rose was busy cooking whatever the scouts had hunted down earlier in the day and Addison couldn’t take the fearful look Rhys gave her whenever she tried to leave him in someone else’s care.

            So Addison sat with him in her lap, and he watched her hands quietly as she finished tying a fresh bandage around a soldier’s arm. “You’re healing nicely—no sign of infection,” she told the man, Rhys’s curly hair brushing her cheek as she leaned around the toddler to tug down the soldier’s sleeve.

            “Thank you,” the soldier yawned, drawing his cloak closer around him.

            “You can thank me by being careful with that arm. No ripping those stitches open until you’re fully recovered,” Addison ordered, dragging herself to her feet with Rhys in her arms—a difficult maneuver for her. Her back protested, and her vision darkened for a moment. It was a combination of hunger and lack of sleep, leaving her with a quickly passing dizzy spell.

            She shook her head and blinked to clear her vision, the soldier already disappearing into a nearby tent.

            It was their sixth night in the Frostbacks, and Gerta had stopped by earlier to announce that they should be arriving at their new stronghold by the next day. For whatever reason, it didn’t make Addison feel any better. A constant apprehension had been tangling in her stomach for days. It was almost as if she was too nervous to hope for anything good while their situation was still so uncertain.

            “Addie,” Rose’s voice called softly from behind her.

            Addison grunted in response as she turned, picking up her bag of supplies with one hand while clutching Rhys close with the other.

            “We’ve finished making dinner.” Rose twisted a strand of her long, dark hair around her finger.

            “I’ve got to finish these rounds first,” Addison sighed. Her stomach had also settled on a strange empty feeling. She knew logically she was hungry, but she didn’t feel much like eating.

            Rose seemed to clock that something was wrong, and frowned. “Why don’t you finish them after you eat?”

            Addison shook her head. “I want to check on everyone. I didn’t have the chance during the afternoon break earlier.” Addison usually spent their travelling time hurrying among the Inquisition, checking on the people carried in stretchers, or hurrying ahead or to the sides to collect useful plants as she saw them. She’d found a particularly large patch of wild elfroot earlier and had let herself fall behind to pick it.

            “I’ll set aside something for you, then,” Rose said. “Let me at least take Rhys while you finish.” She held out her arms, and Addison tapped gently on Rhys’s nose and pointed to Rose.

            Rhys didn’t give any indication that he was paying attention, plucking at threads on Addison’s fraying cloak. Addison gently bounced him, which still didn’t get a reaction.

            “He’s been like this since Haven.” Rose stepped closer and took him from Addison, Rhys not meeting her eyes and simply curling into her chest. “I don’t know what to do, Addie.”

            _Oh, and I do?_ Addison bit back the knee-jerk response, instead breathing deeply. It was impossible to notice the change in Rhys. It was as if his insatiable curiosity in the world around him had been sucked away in Haven, and it was completely understandable given that he’d nearly died hiding beside the tavern on fire, and then nearly died again when Addison had tried to flee with him.

            “Give him time,” Addison said quietly, not meeting Rose’s eyes. “That’s all we can do at the moment.” She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and headed to the center of the camp where the stretchers were usually laid out, those who had been seriously injured still in precarious condition at best.

            Addison moved quietly among them, Stitches joining her and giving her his assessments in his usual practical, calm manner. Addison was more grateful to him than she could express. All the injured seemed to be on the mend save for one, an Inquisition soldier named Sam Miller with thinning gray hair and a dry sense of humor. He seemed to be barely clinging to hopes of recovery, but he’d lost too much blood on the first night in the Frostbacks, and his condition seemed to be worsening.

            “How are you feeling today, Sam?” Addison asked brusquely as she knelt down beside him.

            “Like I’m damn tired of lying on a stretcher. But there’s something else wrong with this old horse, eh?” Sam asked dryly, coughing as he struggled to sit up. He was an older man who’d had a bad stab wound that had barely missed his lung and a broken wrist. Stitches supported him with a hand on his lower back.

            Addison arched an eyebrow, though she noticed his skin looked clammier than it had in the morning. “Maybe. Should I call the blacksmith over to re-shoe you? I’m afraid I don’t know much about horses.”

            Stitches cracked a smile as Sam replied with a weak cackle, “Aye, perhaps you should. No more of those bitter-tasting potions you give me, girl.”

            Addison rolled her eyes as she pressed a hand to Sam’s forehead. “The way everyone in this camp complains about my potions, you’d think the Inquisition was a nursery rather than an army.” _He has a fever—is it infection?_ Addison wondered with dread, though she hoped she kept her face impassive.

            Stitches commented mildly, “All the drafts apothecaries make seem to turn even the most hardened soldier into a child refusing to eat his green peas.”

            “Oh, I’d take green peas any day,” Sam wheezed good-naturedly, his shoulders already trembling with the effort of sitting.

            Stitches caught Addison’s eye, and she gave a slight shake of her head. Judging from the way the corners of the mercenary’s lips pulled down, he’d noticed Sam had a fever as well.

            “Let’s take a look at your injury,” Addison muttered, gently tugging up Sam’s shirt. The bandages were no longer bloody as she unwound them, and once she finished removing them, Sam laid down again, his chest heaving slightly with just the effort of sitting.

            Stitches was holding Sam’s good wrist to take his pulse, his frown only deepening.

            Addison peered at the wound. It was still inflamed around the stitches, and the inflammation should’ve been disappearing by now. Instead, it looked redder, leaving Addison to suspect that there was an infection deeper into the wound though the surface was trying to heal.

            “Stitches, could you please take a look at this while I get one of our unappreciated potions?” Addison avoided looking at either of the men. If Sam had an infected wound in his current condition, Addison wasn’t sure what it meant for his recovery.

            She turned her back on them while she shuffled through her bag, finding an elfroot potion she’d made the day before. If the wound was really infected beneath the surface, Addison wasn’t sure she could do anything other than give Sam elfroot and hope his body could fight out the infection.

            “It doesn’t look good, does it?”

            Addison froze for a moment, elfroot potion in hand and facing the rest of camp before she recovered herself and turned back to the old man. “You know, wounds are never the most attractive things,” Addison deadpanned, eyes flicking to Sam’s. “You won’t be able to seduce anyone until this heals and you’re left with a rakish scar.”

            Sam chuckled, only for pain to flash across his wrinkled face followed by a cough. “I think I’m too old for rakish scars and seduction, girl.”

            “And if I had a potion for youth restoration I’m sure it would taste too terrible for you to be interested,” Addison retorted, uncorking the elfroot potion and holding it out to Sam and doing her best to keep her expression neutral.

            He looked at it slowly, not reaching for it. “Save it,” he said after a few moments.

            Addison sighed in exasperation. “Andraste’s ass, it doesn’t even taste that bad.”

            “Oh, but it does,” Sam said, though there was a strange air of seriousness as he smiled slightly. His hair was matted against his forehead, sticking to him because of the cold sweats that came with his fever. “I know the injury is infected, blighted Templar. Keep the potion for someone who has a chance.”

            “What?” Addison asked sharply after a heartbeat, reigning in shock.

            “Keep the potion, girl,” Sam raised a shaking hand to pat her leg. “I don’t think a bit of elfroot can help me now.”

            Addison stared at him before gritting her teeth. “Last time I checked, I was the apothecary around here and _you_ had no medical expertise.” Addison shoved the little bottle into Sam’s hand and glared at him. “You have a chance, and you’re going to take that chance.”

            How many people had she seen die who had fought until their last breath for the chance to survive? How hard had _she_ fought to keep every last one of them alive? _Damn old man,_ Addison thought as she continued to scowl, exhausted and too out of patience to wonder if there was a kinder, gentler approach to this situation.

            Sam let his head roll back a little bit on the stretcher, seemingly un-phased by Addison’s anger. “You can’t stop a man who’s being called to the Maker’s side,” Sam said, a shiver from the fever traveling down his bony frame.

            “I don’t care who’s calling you,” Addison snapped, feeling slightly on the edge of hysteria again. “I’m not giving up. You’re not giving up. You’re going to take this elfroot potion, and—”

            “Addie.” It was Stitches, gently touching her arm. Addison met his eyes, hating what she saw there. Sadness and defeat. Stitches didn’t think Sam could be saved.

            Sam coughed again, and Addison hated the way his eyes seemed less and less focused every day. She’d been watching his health decline and had struggled to heal him while he wasted away, because she was so determined to keep anyone else from dying and here he was just _giving up_.

            “The Maker knows it’s my time, girl.”

            Addison stood, grabbing her bag and turning away from them. _Those stupid, defeatist—_ “ _Fuck_ the Maker,” she snarled, turning and storming away, choking back tears once again.

 

* * *

 

            He saw her moving through camp while he was mid-conversation with Leliana, and found that his eyes followed her without meaning to, the dim light of the soon-to-set afternoon sun glinting on golden hair. The expression on her face would probably have been terrifying if it was directed at him, but instead he found himself concerned.

            “—and the Herald says it looks very defensible, which my scouts agreed with. I’m eager to hear your assessment when we reach it tomorrow, although… Cullen?” Leliana asked.

            Cullen quickly looked at her again. “What?”

            Leliana smirked slightly, glancing to her left. “Distracted, are we?”

            “What? No, of course not.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t spoke with Addison more than brief greetings in passing since the night they fled Haven, and she’d looked more and more exhausted every time he saw her now. He was worried for her, and her work never seemed to end given the amount of injuries she was trying to treat and all the soldiers and scouts she was constantly checking on. “I trust the judgment of your scouts if they believe the location is adequate.”

            “Yes, as do I.” Leliana was still giving him a strange knowing look. “I won’t keep you any longer.”

            Cullen stared at her as she turned gracefully on her heel and strode away, wondering exactly how it was that Leliana managed to read every expression that crossed his face. It was actually rather annoying, and he found himself pressing gloved fingers to his temples at the dull pain in his head as stopped by where Rylen and Thirrin were eating dinner together to update them on the scout’s reports regarding their destination.

            He found Addison after briefing them. She was sitting by herself at the outskirts of camp, plucking dark green leaves from a plant he wasn’t sure he’d seen before. He stood behind her for a few moments, unsure of what to say.

            _You look unwell._ No, that would probably only make her grimace and answer with a sarcastic ‘thank you.’ There was always, _I’m worried for you._ It was true, but it sounded far too intimate, and Addison might look at him in confusion.

            After another moment’s deliberation and upon realizing he was acting like a hapless teenager once again, Cullen just cleared his throat to make his presence known.

            Addison glanced over her shoulder, and to Cullen’s surprise she no longer looked like she wanted to hit something. “Cullen? What’re you doing out here?” She was clearly exhausted, face ghostly pale and beneath her eyes deep circles that resembled bruising.

            Cullen stared at her for a moment, finding himself frowning deeply and unsure of what to say again. “It’s…getting warmer these nights.”

            Now it was Addison’s turn to stare, and Cullen felt warmth creep up the back of his neck. “Well it can’t stay bloody freezing forever, can it? Don’t answer that, actually. I don’t want to somehow invoke another snowstorm.” She looked down at the leaves she had in her lap, running her fingers over the dark green edges. “But I doubt you came here to discuss the weather. Is everything alright?”

            “I meant to ask you that first,” Cullen said quietly, taking in the apothecary’s dark mood as he walked a few steps forward and sat down on a log beside her, facing the pink sky that was beginning to darken.

            Addison didn’t react to his words, still staring at her lap and hunched over, almost as if she was curling in on herself.

            “Addison?”

            She looked up slowly, the bags under her eyes a dark purple and her hair falling into her face. Cullen had seen her exhausted before, but this was something much worse. “Oh, I—” She broke off, shaking her head. “Do you believe in the Maker?”

            Of all the things Cullen expected her to say, that was not one of them. “The Maker?” He echoed, his brow furrowing.

            “Yes.” She paused, pushing her hair back behind her ear. It was long enough now that it stayed in place. “I’m sorry, that was a strange question. I just… I thought you were Andrastian.”

            Cullen nodded, still slightly confused about the direction the conversation had taken. “I am.” He looked at Addison curiously. “I take it you aren’t?”

            Addison curled one of the leaves in her palm, not seeming to be paying much attention to them, shrugging as she looked out at the sunset. “I have my own issues with the Maker and Andraste if I believe in them at all. And too many members of the chantry seem to care more about using piety as a weapon and meddling in politics than doing anything helpful.”

            “Corruption is no stranger to the chantry,” Cullen murmured in agreement.

            Addison returned her attention to him, the corners of her lips pulling down. “I thought you just said you were Andrastian?”

            Cullen gave a half-smile. “That doesn’t mean I believe the chantry is without flaws. I’ve seen my share of misguided religious zeal far too many times.”

            “Misguided religious zeal?” Addison asked, her tone skeptical. “That’s a euphemism for justifying certain acts by invoking the chantry’s rights or Maker knows what else.”

            “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Cullen’s thoughts drifted to early years in Kirkwall, where he’d let Meredith use the chant itself to justify treatment of mages. He looked past Addison, adding quietly, “Maybe I’ve been part of it as well.”

Addison didn’t say anything for a few moments, but when she spoke she sounded detached, almost accusatory. “While you were a Templar?”

            The verse was from Transfigurations. _Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond._

Cullen rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, leaning forward on the log slightly. To Meredith, all mages were on the verge of becoming Maleficar. All mages were foul and corrupt. And Cullen had followed that line of thought for far too long. “Yes,” he admitted. “In Kirkwall. My Knight-Commander led us all into madness, and I followed without questioning for longer than I should have.” He said it quietly, memories of Kirkwall in flames still fresh in his mind.

            “You trusted her,” Addison said, somewhere between a statement and a question, watching Cullen with a furrowed brow.

            Cullen nodded slightly. “I did. And I couldn’t make that same mistake again.”

            “Cullen, you… that’s why you left the Order,” Addison’s frown deepened, but her voice was quiet.

            “Yes. After Kirkwall, I knew that I wanted nothing to do with that life any longer.” Cullen said, a mountain breeze whispering past and ruffling the fur on his coat.

            Addison puffed her cheeks out and exhaled deeply, letting the cool air of the night settle around them. “You’re a better man than you let on, Commander Rutherford.”

            Cullen blinked at her. “I… What?”

            Addison scoffed, a fraction of her usual spark returning to her eyes. “If you’re that flustered by a compliment as terrible as that one, I’d love to see your reaction when someone calls you handsome.”

            Cullen’s hand moved from the hilt of his sword to the back of his neck, wondering exactly why Addison was saying anything she was saying at all. “Ah, I—”

            “What I mean, Cullen, is that I’ve been unfair to you.” The teasing tone lessened, and she looked at Cullen with an unexpected softness. “Although I’m sure there’s still plenty of things we fundamentally disagree on,” she added with a quirk to her eyebrow.

            “I’m sure there are,” Cullen muttered, the heat that had crawled up to the tips of his ears fading. For all their arguments over matters of Templars and mages, he hadn’t expected her to say she’d been unfair to him. If she knew the things that he had done—or the things he’d been through—he wasn’t sure if she would still say the same thing. He was no longer a blind follower of the Order, surely, but he had been changed in other ways as well.

            “But,” Addison said, pulling Cullen from the spiral of dark thoughts that threatened to suck him in, “we agree that the chantry should be viewed with at the very least a healthy dose of skepticism. You know, I’ve decided the chantry might as well be run by cloistered druffalo. It’s a theory that some people have given credibility.”  
            Cullen laughed quietly at that, tugged from the darker mood and the weight of his years in Kirkwall under Meredith’s influence. She smiled back at him, tired eyes crinkling around the edges. The last traces of light were leaving the sky, the air more crisp and she leaned her back against the log, tilting her head slightly.

            _Maker, she’s beautiful,_ Cullen realized as strands of uneven, wavy hair fell into her face across her cheek. He’d known it objectively before, of course, but now it was almost distractingly obvious. She was not the delicate kind of pretty—her features were bold, with a stubborn chin and a strong nose with a raised ridge. Her eyes could be hard, but in moments like these they were soft and kind, making her look almost like an entirely different person. Cullen wanted to trace the gentle curve of her cheek down to the corner of her mouth, her lower lip much fuller than the top. Lips that he wanted to—

            “I think we should suggest it the next time the clerics from Val Royeaux give the Inquisition trouble,” Addison was saying with a slight smirk.

            Cullen coughed, shaking his head and trying not to stare at her lips. Maker’s breath, what was wrong with him? They were travelling through the Frostbacks after barely escaping Haven with an uncertain future ahead, and on top of that he had no idea if her feelings for him extended beyond their tentative and sometimes volatile friendship.

            Fortunately, Addison either didn’t notice or chose not to comment on his distraction as she held up a finger in the air and pretended to write, “Dear Chantry clerics, we regret to inform you that we really just don’t give a damn, and suggest that you consider admitting druffalo into your cloister, as we believe these animals might be a better partner to the Inquisition. With regards, Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition.”

            Cullen snorted. “Yes, I can see that going over very smoothly.”

            Addison grinned then. “Smoothly indeed. You know, during my first week in Haven, Chancellor Roderick—” She stopped abruptly, her face falling and voice catching in her throat.

            The chancellor had died shortly after their escape from Haven, though he had managed to lead the Inquisition out to safety. While Cullen had been prepared to make a final stand at Haven, the moment that he realized there was a chance for the Inquisition’s survival, he had taken it. And it was Chancellor Roderick who had given them all that chance.

            Addison sighed quietly. “He was a pompous ass, but he was the Inquisition’s pompous ass.”

            Cullen agreed with her, glad that Addison wasn’t the type to suddenly make saints of the dead. “In the end he saved the very institution he was trying to destroy.”

            “I think it had little to do with that,” Addison began scooping the leaves from her lap and into a little drawstring bag. “He was just saving _people_. That’s usually what it comes down to.”

            Cullen wondered exactly what she meant, watching as she finished moving the leaves and placed the little bag into her larger one. “Whatever his intentions were, I am grateful to him,” Cullen murmured.

            “Me too.” She brushed her hands off on her dark skirts, her expression unreadable. “I should get something to eat before Rose hunts me down and forces food down my throat. Have you eaten?”

            “Not yet.” Cullen said, standing from the log and then offering Addison a gloved hand. She took it, and Cullen pulled her to her feet, accidentally holding her hand for a moment too long before he let go. Addison was one of the taller women he knew, and he was still unused to the way her face was so close to his when they stood together,

            “Care to join me?” Addison asked, picking up her bag and rolling her shoulders back.

            “If you don’t mind—”

            “I wouldn’t have asked if I did,” she said simply, beginning to walk back toward the camp.

            Cullen let out a huff of air. She was always utterly impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the feelings are finally appearing in full force!  
> (Sorry it took so long to get to this point~~ should I add the tag 'slow, slowwww burn'?)  
> As always, thank you for reading!


	17. One Step Closer

            “Now that the nearby villages are coordinating with our scouts, we should be able to see Corypheus coming with plenty of warning,” Rylen said, his armor clanking lightly as he and Cullen went together down the steps in Skyhold’s courtyard.

            “Good. We won’t be caught unprepared again,” Cullen answered. “Coordinate with Leliana to send a group of her scouts and a few of our soldiers back to Haven. I want to know about the neighboring hamlets and the refugee camp as well.”

            They had arrived at Skyhold three days ago, named Lavellan Inquisitor on the first, and immediately set to work repairing the fortress and making sure Corypheus wasn’t on their doorstep yet again. Cullen had only just gotten to a list of soldiers presumed dead, and he held the report now in his left hand, the thin sheets of paper far too light for the weight they carried.

            “Understood.” They reached the bottom of the stairs, grass crunching beneath their boots as Rylen followed Cullen to his makeshift workstation. “Should we bury the bodies of our soldiers at Haven?”

            Cullen set the reports down on the table they’d found within Skyhold, decrepit yet surprisingly sturdy. There wouldn’t be much left of the soldiers now, and the bodies of Red Templars would be littered among them.

            He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. The Red Templars were also another matter to be looked into as soon as could be managed. But that was not the question Rylen had asked. “If the squadron leader deems it appropriate, then you have my full support in laying our soldiers to rest.” Cullen answered.

            Rylen nodded.

            Cullen looked over his Knight-Captain, the Starkhaven man looking every bit as run-down as Cullen felt. “Once you work out with Leliana who to send back to Haven, you’re on break for the remainder of the day.”

            Rylen’s dark eyebrows shot up. “On break? Cullen, there are still reports I need to—”

            “Write competently once you’ve slept.” Cullen said. “You and the rest of the men are overworked, Rylen. I need you at your best, so take time to recover. And that’s an order.”

            Rylen gave a sardonic smile. “With all due respect, Commander, we’ve at least slept in the last week.”

            The _unlike you_ was unsaid but clearly implied, and Cullen could only sigh slightly. “Noted, Knight-Captain.” Cullen clapped his second in command on the shoulder. “And, dismissed.”

            Rylen saluted, still smiling slightly, and left Cullen to begin organizing the various reports on his desk.

            The afternoon breeze ruffled through some of the pages, and Cullen once again found himself grasping the list of those they’d lost at Haven.

            “Cullen.” A light voice made Cullen glance up from the report, finding Lavellan walking toward him, a travelling cloak around her shoulders and staff in hand. “I’m about to leave for a scouting mission to the west. I should be back by tomorrow, but…” She tilted her head to the side slightly, golden eyes narrowing slightly. “I wasn’t sure if there’s anything else needed from me at Skyhold?”

            Cullen stared at her for a moment, wondering at the hesitation in her voice for a woman that always seemed very sure and careful of what she wanted to say. “I believe we have everything under control,” Cullen answered. It was his turn to hesitate. “Did you… need anything?”

            Lavellan quirked her head to the other side, then sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “No. I just wasn’t sure if there was anything inquisitorial I was supposed to do at Skyhold. I’m still not certain what being Inquisitor exactly entails.”

            “Oh,” Cullen said, caught rather off-guard. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose we haven’t really discussed the practicalities of your title yet. If you’d like, I can ask Josephine and Leliana to meet together when you return from your scouting mission, and we can make plans for the next few weeks. Things have settled down enough for us to be looking to the future rather than clinging onto survival in the present.”

            Lavellan nodded, looking relieved. “Perfect. I was my Keeper’s First, but I was only trained into how to look after my clan. The Inquisition is… much larger. Unfortunately I don’t know any of the duties that come with the title you gave me.” There was a slight arch to her brow, one that was caught somewhere between amusement and accusation.

            “Ah, yes. I suppose you being named Inquisitor was a very… surprising process.”

            “ _Surprising_ , yes.” Lavellan quipped. “But I would be glad to make some sort of plan when I return. If you hear any word of Varric’s contact, and it’s who we all think it is, please keep Cassandra from committing murder.” Her voice was light, but her eyes clearly gave away concern.

            “I’ll do my best,” Cullen answered, and with a slight smile added, “But perhaps a restraining order will be necessary.”

            Lavellan laughed, the sound gentle. But another breeze reminded Cullen of the paper that rustled in his hand, and his expression fell as he lifted the report. “I also have something you might want to see.”

 

* * *

 

            It was a rather rude awakening from a rather uncomfortable nap to have someone smack loudly on the box she was leaning against, wood rattling in her ear.

            “Wha—I’m awake. What’s going on? Someone critical?” Addison dragged the back of one hand across her mouth, the other pushing hair back away from her face.

            Bleary eyed, she peered up at an old man with a salt and pepper beard and bushy eyebrows who stood over her, looking incredibly displeased.

            Addison scrambled to her feet, sniffing and shaking her head slightly in an attempt to wake up. She’d meant to only take a brief nap after lunch, and Sister Maren had promised to wake her up if anyone’s condition changed. But now, the strange old man was staring her down with clear distaste.

            “Can I help you with something?” Addison asked, wondering if he was one of the nearby villagers who’d begun arriving the over the last two days.

            “I believe you are the one who is meant to be helping me, yes,” the old man said stiffly. “Tell me, do you make it a habit to sleep while you’re on duty?”

            Addison frowned, too tired to feel more than moderately confused as the man’s tone. She still hadn’t managed to sleep through the night between the still injured soldiers and scouts, Rhys’s nightmares, and her own uneasy dreams. “Right. I’m sorry, could you please tell me what it is you need?” Addison tried to clarify, now rubbing her eyes.

            The old man made a disgusted noise. “Irresponsible. I am Rueben Grot, the surgeon the Inquisition made a plea for. I was told there was an apothecary and a mercenary healer running your sad attempt at a hospital, and I see now just how desperate the Inquisition was for my services.”

            Addison’s hand quickly dropped from her face as she glared at him. “You’re the surgeon?” She’d asked Cullen to send word out their first day in Skyhold and was relieved to hear the following day they’d found someone who answered their call. Now, she was feeling far from grateful. “Have you looked over any of the injured yet?” Addison asked tightly, taking a few steps away from the corner of their makeshift hospital in Skyhold’s courtyard, complete with a few tents and stretchers. Sam was lying in the tent toward the edge, barely clinging to life. “There’s one man in particular—”

            “Yes, your chantry sister already told me.” Sister Maren looked up from where she knelt beside the scout she was checking on, and met Addison’s eyes sadly. “I examined him, but there is nothing I can do given his condition,” the surgeon—Rueben—said.

            Addison’s jaw tightened as she inhaled sharply. “I believe that despite the surface healing, there’s an infection deep below the wound. If you were to—”

            “I’m aware that’s the issue. But there is nothing I can do. I’m a surgeon, not a miracle worker,” Rueben said, turning away from her. “I want an inventory list on what you currently have available by nightfall. The chantry sister said there wasn’t one available right now. It’s sloppy and unprofessional not to have one—I expected more from the Inquisition.”

            Addison’s heart gave an angry beat as she ground her teeth together. “I don’t think you understand what the Inquisition has been through in the last week, but an inventory is far from our current concerns. We have three people still in critical condition. There has to be something you can do for them.”

            “Yes, I’ll look into what I can do. The man with the deep infection, however, is beyond help. I need to speak to someone about finding a better facility. I cannot perform a surgery in these conditions given the risk of infection.” Reuben barely turned back to look at Addison as he added, “The inventory. By nightfall,” and walked away toward the upper level of the courtyard.

            Addison watched his retreating form, the man’s brown robes slightly baggy, and wasn’t sure if she was still predominately furious or tired. “Is it just me, or is he an absolute ass?” Addison asked flatly.

            “An ass,” the scout provided helpfully.

            “Good to know,” Addison mumbled, shuffling over to the scout and Sister Maren, trying to unclench her jaw.

            Sister Maren sighed, re-tying the scout’s sling. “Hopefully he will be able to help with Danny’s leg and Theresa’s shoulder.”

            Addison grunted in response, her eyes flicking to Sam’s tent. “And Sam?”

            Sister Maren straightened, avoiding Addison’s eyes. “Come back again in a week’s time, and I’ll check on the healing process again,” Sister Maren told the scout.

            The woman nodded before giving Addison a sympathetic look and taking her leave, silence settling over Sister Maren and Addison.

            “There’s no hope left, is there?” Addison asked quietly.

            “I’m sorry, Addie.” Sister Maren whispered. “You did everything you could, and Sam did as well. He even made it to Skyhold. But if even the surgeon says there’s nothing more than can be done…”

            Addison nodded, taking a slow breath. “I understand.”

            Sister Maren looked toward Sam’s tent. “The surgeon said he would only have until tomorrow at most.”

            “I know. I could tell from when I checked on him this morning.” Addison admitted. “He’s barely conscious anymore.”

            She stepped away from Sister Maren with a slow numbness, a cool wind sweeping through the courtyard as she made her way to Sam’s tent. She pulled open the flap, kneeling down inside next to Sam, his form so thin and fragile.

            “Sam?” Addison asked softly.

            There was no response, but Addison could see the shallow rise of his bony chest, and could hear the rattle of his breath. He would likely not regain consciousness again. She couldn’t remember the last thing he’d said to her. It was some time yesterday, between her checks with soldiers and scouts who came to her for fresh bandages. Was it a comment about his home village? Or maybe about how he had always wanted to meet the Wardens who saved Ferelden? They’d talked about random bits and pieces of his life every time she had been by his side, since he had looked her in the eye in the Frostbacks and said, _Alright, girl, I’ll fight to stick around if it strikes your fancy._

“Thank you, Sam.” Addison’s voice caught in her throat as she adjusted the blanket she had rolled up as a pillow beneath his head. “Thank you for not giving up. I'm... I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

            She stood quickly, unable to listen to the deathly rattle of his breathing any longer, and stepped outside the tent. Her hands smoothed over her skirts in a manic motion for several moments until she shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

            “She told me not to end it, too. That there was still a chance you could heal the hurt that’s burning deep inside him.”

            Addison jumped slightly, a boy in a giant hat appearing seemingly out of thin air to her left. “Maker, you came out of nowhere.”

            “Not nowhere. Just somewhere you couldn’t see.” The boy ducked his head, hat obscuring his face. He was significantly shorter than Addison, fraying clothes and a soft voice. It was strange, but Addison felt like she’d seen him before but couldn’t quite picture where.

            “Ah. Right.” Addison tugged the hair tie loose from the strands it still held and began braiding the snarl of waves again, finding something to busy herself with. “Did you need something?”

            “They always need. They always need from you, and you help but it never is enough,” the boy continued.

            Addison’s brow furrowed. “What?” There was a niggling memory now. She’d seen the boy around the makeshift hospital over the last several days, always darting about, but for some reason she always forgot his presence the moment he was gone. He had been in the Frostbacks too, dancing in and out of sight and thought.

            “You remember me?” The boy asked, looking up at her from under his ridiculous hat. His eyes were a pale, watery blue.

            “Yes—I’m sorry I forgot before. I must’ve always been tired and preoccupied,” Addison’s fingers caught in a tangle and she yanked through. The boy was strange, but she did remember him always helping. Yes—he’d handed her potions before that she thought she couldn’t find in one bag. Maker, she shouldn’t have forgotten someone as odd as this person, but she’d had only one goal in mind since the attack on Haven, and that was to keep everyone alive. A goal that she’d failed many times over.

            “You did everything you could.” The boy said quietly. “You helped until you needed help, but you kept helping even after.”

            Addison’s fingers froze, pinching the edge of her braid. He was very oddly aware of where her thoughts had taken her. “Are you a healer as well?” She asked with curiosity despite her tiredness, tying off the braid.

            “No. But I want to help,” the boy said simply, his face so open and earnest.

            He probably wasn’t that much younger than Addison, but there was something about the softness of his voice and the way he ducked his head shyly that made Addison feel older.

            “You’ve already helped me a lot, haven’t you?” Addison asked, corners of her lips pulling up in a small smile. “What’s your name?”

            The boy hesitated, glancing up again at Addison. “Cole,” he said after a few moments.

            “Addison.” She held out her hand, which Cole stared at before slowly reaching out and grasping it.

            “Addison. You’ll let me keep helping?”

            “Of course. A few extra hands can help potion making go much faster.” Addison offered another tired smile. “Do you know much about healing drafts?”

            Addison and Cole spent the next few hours taking inventory, with Addison explaining the ingredients to each draft and poultice, Cole quietly listening and occasionally inserting a comment Addison didn’t quite understand.

            Addison checked on Sam several more times until it grew dark, and the evening chill had set in when Sam’s heart finally stopped. Stitches had come to check in then, and he was the one to officially confirm Sam’s death and with another Charger, Krem—Addison thought—took Sam’s body away.

            Sister Maren cried softly, but Addison felt nothing but hollow as she watched Stitches and Krem leave with the stretcher. The last of the casualties from Haven. The last person Addison failed. She was tired. Tired and empty.

            Cole stood beside her, saying nothing but, “The pain is over.”

            Addison nodded, knowing it was true, before awkwardly reaching out to put an arm around Sister Maren’s shoulders, the woman drying her tears as she leaned on Addison.

            Sister Maren straightened after a few minutes, sniffing and wiping her cheeks. “I’ll tell Mother Giselle.”

            “Alright.” She let her arm fall away, realizing belatedly that the show of comfort had been much less uncomfortable than she had assumed it would be. Addison stood in a strange stupor still, staring at the now empty tent as Sister Maren left. Torches were beginning to be lit around Skyhold as darkness set in, someone lighting one of the stands in the center of the hospital clearing.

            The only two people remaining there were Danny and Theresa in their own tents, and Addison would need to stay with them through the night just in case their conditions changed for the worse. It was unlikely, but still possible. Then there was the surgeon to deal with later, and—

            “Addison?”

            Addison blinked, eyes flicking to where she thought Cole was standing and instead finding Cullen walking toward her. She craned her neck, frowning when Cole was nowhere to be found.

            “Are you looking for something?”

            Addison shook her head, turning to face Cullen. “Someone. But I must have not been paying attention.”

            Cullen stepped in closer to her, torchlight only illuminating half of his face. “Sister Maren just reported to me that we lost Jameston.”

            “Sam,” Addison corrected without thinking. Cullen called his soldiers almost exclusively by their surnames, while Addison only knew them by their given names. “Yes. The surgeon said there was nothing he could do, and Sam’s condition was already worsening.”

            Cullen nodded slowly, and Addison found she couldn’t look him in the eye, afraid of finding disappointment or concern or anything that might make the empty feeling she had change to something less manageable. “I’m sorry,” Cullen murmured.

            Addison blinked, glancing up for a moment to catch the look on Cullen’s face. His eyebrows were knitted together, the corners of his lips downturned. It wasn’t one of the strange inane things people said when someone died, an ‘I’m sorry’ as some sort of expression of shared grief, which Addison had never understood. _He feels guilty,_ Addison realized. “Cullen—”

            “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again.” His voice was low, but the resolve in his words was enough to finally make Addison meet his eyes.

            There it was again. The understanding they seemed to have with one another, the guilt they both had at the deaths that occurred. It reminded Addison of one of their first conversations when they still knew so little about each other. “It never gets easier,” Addison said quietly, echoing that night in the woods near the ruins of the village bandits had burned to the ground.

            Cullen nodded slightly, sleeplessness circling his eyes, his cheekbones too prominent again.

            Addison reached forward to place her hand on his arm. “How are you feeling? We have enough elfroot if your headaches are growing worse again. You haven’t had anything for the pain in a week.”

            “I can manage.”

            “Cullen—”

            “I know our supplies are low, Addison. My health—

            “Is important to me.” Addison interrupted Cullen’s interruption tiredly, only realizing the intimacy of her words when Cullen didn’t argue and instead stared at her. “Important to the Inquisition,” Addison muttered, quickly withdrawing her hand from Cullen’s arm. “So please just take a potion, Cullen.”

            She turned away from him, hurrying over to the box with the remainder of the bottles, glad the darkness could hide the heat in her face. She selected a draft and turned back to Cullen, keeping her distance this time as she stretched out her hand and offered him the potion.

            He took it slowly, gloved fingers brushing Addison’s. “I’ll ration it out,” Cullen said. “I won’t need any more until we’re fully restocked.”

            “We’ll see,” Addison answered, feeling particularly stubborn. In other words, feeling more like herself than she had for days.

            “We will,” Cullen said, reminding her that he was every bit as stubborn as she was. “The surgeon arrived today. Did you meet him?”

            “Unfortunately, yes,” Addison’s lip curled. “Speaking of which, I need to find him and pass on the current inventory list.”

            Cullen cleared his throat. “‘Unfortunately’?”

            Addison shrugged, checking her dress pockets to be sure the folded piece of paper was still inside. “I won’t say anything more until I see his surgeries, but I can tell you he’s already not particularly fond of me. Though the feeling is mutual.”

            “Ah.” Cullen’s face took on a strange expression, almost like he was amused about something. “Yes, please report to me on the surgeries. I believe the surgeon is in the upper courtyard at the moment.”

            “Great. Thank you.” Addison glanced at the tents that held Danny and Theresa. If she was only gone for a few minutes, it should be alright.

            She and Cullen exchanged ‘good nights’, and then Addison was on her way up the stairs to the upper courtyard, legs protesting. Despite the cramping muscles, Addison felt a modicum better than she had before.

            It had been Cullen, lately, that made whatever _off_ feeling in the pit of her stomach go away, every time she saw him.

            When she woke up at night in a panic, feeling the Red Templars chasing her down, the impact of a sword striking across her back, she remembered his face above hers, his grip pulling her to her feet.

            Addison hadn’t realized it at that moment, but now she understood more and more.

            She had fallen for the commander of the Inquisition, beyond just a stray heart beat or errant shade of red sweeping over her cheeks. _Hell, I might even be in love with him,_ Addison thought.

            Her foot slipped at that moment, leaving her to fall against the stone of the stairs. She caught herself on her palms, knees smacking hard against the edge of the step.

            “Damn it,” Addison hissed, clambering to her feet once again. “Really. Damn,” she muttered again, shaking her head to clear it and hiking up her dress to find the insufferable surgeon.


	18. Breaking Point

            Addison’s hair was sticking to the back of her neck, but she didn’t have a free hand to try to tie the loose strands back or wipe sweat from her forehead. She huffed loudly to herself, taking a moment to brace the boxes she had stacked in her arms against the wall.

            _Me and my stupid pride,_ Addison leaned her head against the top box, only to destabilize it. She quickly shifted her weight back to regain the box’s balance, glass bottles clinking inside. _Should’ve just taken Harrit’s help when he bloody asked._

Addison wheezed again slightly, adjusting her grip on the boxes before continuing down the stairs to Undercroft. The arcanist the Inquisition hired had arrived the day before, and while Addison wasn't entirely sure of what to make of the dwarf and her ramblings, but she knew already she preferred it to Reuben’s eternal snide comments, which she responded to with silent glares given that he was a damn good surgeon the Inquisition sorely needed.

            With another huff, Addison made it to the Undercroft’s door, kicking it open unceremoniously with a broken down boot.

            “Of all the Maker-forsaken—” Addison hissed, straining to set the boxes down.

            “Let me help you with that.” The top box was suddenly removed from Addison’s stack, a pale face appearing from over Addison’s second box.

            “Thank you,” Addison answered with a breath of relief, arms shaking as she set down her load next to the door.

            “Don’t mention it.”

            Addison didn’t recognize the woman helping her as she placed the last box. She had a long sword strapped to her back, one that was very nearly her height, and was wearing dark leather armor over simple black leggings and a well-fitted tunic.

            “They sent you underground?” Varric’s voice echoed in the cavern around them, and Addison spotted him pick something up from Dagna’s research table, the arcanist absent for the moment.

            “As far as caves go, this one seems pretty nice.” Addison pulled a ribbon from her wrist. “There’s just a slight damp smell. And then there’s the rats, but I’ve decided they make excellent company,” Addison tugged her hair into a ponytail and fastened it with the ribbon.

            Varric snorted. “At least better company than our surgeon, from what I hear.” He strode forward, a gem from Dagna’s table in hand. “Addison, this is Hawke. Hawke, Addison.” He gestured with his free hand.

            Addison blinked slightly, the name instantly clicking in for recognition. Hawke. Marian _Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall._

There had been a rumor yesterday that an important figure had arrived, but Addison had assumed it was another visiting dignitary that Ambassador Montilyet had roped into coming to Skyhold.

“Pleased to meet you, Addison,” Hawke said, extending her hand.

            Addison, thankfully, managed not to drop her jaw as she shook hands with one of the most infamous characters in Thedas. “Nice… to meet you, too,” Addison answered, eyes flicking to Varric for some sort of explanation.

            “There’s been some weird shit going on lately, and Hawke is the expert on weird shit. I asked her to come talk things over with the Inquisitor,” Varric explained, as if it were the most casual and obvious thing in the world.

            Addison blinked once, then again. “Ah. Right.” _If Lina finds out her hero is in Skyhold, I’ll never hear the end of it,_ a small voice in Addison’s head said. “Have you met with Ilara yet, then?”

            Hawke nodded. “As soon as I arrived yesterday morning. That’s actually why I’m here. I’ll head out ahead of Ilara, but I’m fresh out of healing potions thanks to run-ins with several bandit groups on the way here.”

            Addison relaxed nearly instantly, scanning Hawke over for any visible injuries. “How many potions do you need? And what about poultices?”

            “You make poultices as well?” Hawke asked, sounding curious. “Are they disinfectants?”

            Varric cleared is throat. “Not that disinfectants aren’t a fascinating conversation topic, but I skipped two meals too many today. I’ll go to the kitchens and bring something back. Hawke? Addie?”

            Addison shook her head.

            “Now food is something I will never turn down.” Hawke smiled crookedly, emphasizing a scar that ran down the side of her cheek. Addison had seen artistic renditions of the Champion of Kirkwall before in various editions of Varric’s book, and the woman depicted looked like a too far-perfected version of the real person standing before Addison now. The illustrations made Hawke’s hair pure ebony black rather than a dark brown, pale skin unmarred and eyes a sharp crystal blue rather than the true, soft shade that now looked at Addison with amusement.

            Varric glanced to Addison, pausing in his steps toward the door. “Hawke could also use a place to lie low for the rest of the day, considering word is already out that she’s arrived.”

            Hawke ducked her head slightly, and Addison thought she caught a glimpse of shame cross her features. “Varric, it’s really not a problem. As much as I’ve kept a low profile in recent months, I can hardly continue doing so if I’m going to be helping the Inquisition.”

            Addison wiped the still-sweaty side of her face with the back of her hand. “Well, you’re welcome to stay in Undercroft for as long as you’d like. If anyone asks around, I’ll simply say it’s a different Marian Hawke.”

            “Yes, I’m the Marian Hawke from Antiva,” Marian agreed, though sadness seemed to linger in her eyes. “Famous only for her wit and excellent taste in wine.”

            Addison laughed in response, feeling like she was talking to a person rather than this great figure in Thedas. Which, she supposed, was the truth. Hawke seemed like just another soldier who Addison had treated time and time again, but she had obviously seen plenty of battles judging from the scars across her face.

            There was a patter of light footsteps on the stairs, and Addison glanced at Varric, then Hawke. There was hardly time to react before Lina appeared in the open doorframe, eyes wide as always.

            “Addie! I knew I’d find you in here. A messenger was looking for you, and—”

            Lina broke off, and Addison hurried forward, casting a glance back at Hawke, who hadn’t moved to step into the shadows of the room. “Lina? What was the message?”

            “V-Varric?” Lina’s eyes darted from Varric to Hawke, and she actually stepped around Addison to gape. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

            _Andraste’s ass, how could she tell so quickly?_ Addison wondered. “Lina, this is Varric’s friend,” Addison said quickly. “She’s going to be helping the Inquisition.”

            “You’re Hawke!” Lina’s face turned from disbelief to pure joy. “You are, aren’t you? They said you were here, but Mama told me it probably wasn’t true. I’ve seen so many drawings, and I’ve read Varric’s book so many times even though there are really hard words.”

            Addison winced, eyes flicking to Hawke and then to Varric to gauge their reaction.

            But Varric just scratched the back of his head. “Now how did you know it was her from just a few shitty drawings, kid?”

            Hawke was already smiling slightly again. “I told you, you should’ve told the artist I was red-haired and six feet tall. It’s too boring if I have a whole book about me and can’t decide how I want to be artistically interpreted.”

            Lina watched the exchange with her eyes growing as wide as saucers. “You’re… you’re really her?”

            “Marian Hawke, at your service.” Marian gave a slight bow and a wink. Addison could already see Lina’s thoughts whirling out of control at meeting her hero.

            “Hawke.” Lina repeated quietly, turning back to look at Addison, suddenly darting back over to her side and clinging onto Addison’s skirts. She whispered, “Is that really her?”

            Addison sighed slightly, but brushed her hand through Lina’s dark hair. “Yes, and she’s here to help the Inquisition. But we don’t need all of Skyhold to know that Hawke’s here at the moment.”

            Lina hesitated, looking to Hawke again before back to Addison and nodding seriously. “Promise I won’t tell anyone.”

            “Another person is in on our little secret,” Hawke said lightly, the gentleness in her voice reassuring. “Your name is Lina?”

            Suddenly Lina had become shy and timid again, the initial shock fading. She kept her position beside Addison and nodded quietly.

            “Well, Lina, if you’ve read Varric’s book, you should know that he lied about so many things in it,” Hawke strode a few steps into Undercroft, leaning against a workbench.

            “Hey, everyone knows I’m prone to some embellishments,” Varric replied, though he was hardly defensive.

            “Embellishments? I was going to tell Lina about all the amazing things I did that you tried to take credit for in your novel.” Hawke’s voice was still kind as she teased him.

            Varric turned to Lina, pointing at Hawke. “Don’t you believe a word she says about me. She tries to take credit for all Bianca and I’s great moments—”

            “All one of them,” Hawke interjected, crossing her arms over her chest as she continued to grin.

            Varric waved a hand in the air as if to dissipate Hawke’s words. “Alright, you’re cranky because you haven’t eaten, aren’t you? I’ll go get something from the kitchens, so don’t try to steal my accomplishments until I’m back to set the story straight.”

            “Thank you Varric,” Hawke called as Varric headed out of Undercroft and up the spiral staircase.

            Addison shook her head as he left. “It shouldn’t take long for Varric to get something from the kitchens. After the defenses were set up, the kitchens were the first thing the Inquisition took care of,” Addison said, her fingers still absently stroking through Lina’s hair. She looked down at the girl and was reminded of Lina’s grand entrance into Undercroft in the first place. “Lina, didn’t you say there was a messenger looking for me?”

            Lina nodded, relaxing her hold of Addison’s skirts. “There was. It was a message from Cullen. He wants to see you in his office.”

            Addison felt her face respond to Lina’s words without meaning to, lips curling up into a smile. “When?”

            Lina hesitated. “I didn’t ask. I just said I would tell you.”

            Addison held back another sigh. “I better go now, then.” She patted Lina’s shoulder before stepping away. She hoped it wouldn’t be because something was wrong. Addison had stayed busy between moving into Undercroft and helping Rueben with surgeries, so she hadn’t seen Cullen in the last week other than in passing. “Will you two be alright here?”

            Lina was already inching timidly toward Hawke, which Addison took as a good sign.

            “We’ll trade gossip about Varric until he comes back,” Hawke said, patting the bench she was leaning against as an invitation for Lina to sit down.

            “I won’t breathe a word to him,” Addison answered. “We can sort out what potions or poultices you need after you eat?”

            Hawke nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

            With that, Addison turned and hurried up the stairs again, hoping that there was nothing that had gone wrong, and that maybe, just _maybe_ , Cullen just wanted to see her. Because she certainly wanted to see him.

 

* * *

 

            Cullen slumped slightly in his chair, elbows resting on his desk as he stared down at the report framed by his arms, white sleeves beside off-white parchment, his armor lying in a neat pile in the room above his office.

            He was dreading the moment that she walked through the door to his office, with bright green eyes ringed with sleeplessness, but crinkling around the edges when she smiled at him.

            She wouldn’t smile after he showed her the report. But he owed it to her. More than that, she simply deserved to know.

            Cullen pressed his fingers to his temples, the faint headache nothing more than a minor annoyance in comparison to the thin sheet of paper Leliana had brought to him only an hour before, sent from outside the ruins of Haven.

            There was a quiet knock, and Cullen let his hands fall from his temples as he pushed his chair back, standing as he called, “Come in.”

            Addison slipped inside, closing the door behind her. “You sent a messenger for me?” She asked, her eyes locking with his. He watched her expression change, brows pulling together and the corners of her lips falling.

            Cullen picked up the report. “We’ve received word from the scouting party who returned to Haven. I asked them to check on the neighboring village and the refugee hamlet.” His voice was harsher than he intended, but he only knew how he’d passed along these reports to other soldiers in the past.

            Addison’s face smoothed out, unnervingly neutral as she asked flatly, “Did they escape?”

            “No,” Cullen answered, still sounding cold and detached, reaching to hand the report to her. “The scouts found several bodies in and around the hamlet. It seems some of the villagers may have escaped into the woods, but we didn’t have an exact count of how many people were in the hamlet or the village before the attack, so it’s unknown if anyone was able to escape.”

            He wasn’t sure Addison was listening to him anymore as she stared at the report, gripping it with both hands. The paper shook slightly, but Addison’s empty expression remained unchanged.

            Silence stretched between them, Cullen resting his palms on his desk and leaning on it, heaviness settled on his shoulders. It had been his responsibility to watch over areas under the Inquisition’s protection, the hamlet and the village included. But he hadn’t even been able to keep Haven safe from Corypheus.

            “I asked you to send soldiers to protect them when the attack began.” Addison’s voice was tight, her movements sharp as she set the report back down on his desk, hand jerking back to her side where she twisted her fingers into her skirts.

            “There was no time. You know that as well as I do.”

            “You could’ve tried,” Addison snapped, a tone she hadn’t used when speaking with Cullen since in the first few weeks she’d been in Haven. “You _should’ve_ tried.”

            Cullen stared back at her unflinchingly. “If I had sent more soldiers out, we would’ve lost Haven before the Inquisition escaped, and those soldiers would’ve died all the same, alongside the villagers and the refugees.”

            “You don’t know that,” Addison hissed. “You didn’t even give them a chance to survive. You abandoned them after giving them your protection, and they were left to die alone!”

            “And you would have had me lose more soldiers in a hopeless effort to reach them in time?” Cullen asked, his own voice growing louder. He leaned further into his desk. “People die in these wars. The attack caught us unprepared, and I could only give orders that would prevent as many deaths as possible.”

            “And so you decided the refugees were more inevitable casualties,” she seethed, accusing him with her eyes as she took a step closer to the desk, bringing her close enough that Cullen could see a muscle jump in her jaw.

            Cullen’s hands curled into fists on his desk. “You refuse to understand.”

            “I refuse to believe that there was nothing we could have done to save them,” Addison retorted, raising her chin with a defiance Cullen usually respected, but at the moment found infuriating. “You claimed the refugees were under the Inquisition’s protection.”

            It was guilt that made Cullen straighten from his desk, leaning back to distance himself between himself and Addison. But it was anger that led him to say coolly, “Am I on trial, Apothecary?”

            Addison regarded him with the same frigid air. “No. But maybe you should be.”

            Cullen almost laughed with derisive disbelief. “And what does an apothecary know of decisions made in war?”

            “I know the corpses of soldiers, Commander.” If Addison had a wintry voice before, this was somehow colder. “I’ve held dying villagers and buried old and young alike. I see the outcomes of your decisions. I deal with the consequences.”

            Cullen’s breath left his body with a quiet exhale, as if Addison’s words had delivered a punch that forced the air from his lungs. When he spoke again, he was quiet, feeling older. “The decision I made at Haven was to preserve as many lives as possible. The Inquisition failed the refugees because we were caught unprepared and didn’t have better protections in place. But I could not save them when you asked me, Addison. I couldn’t risk losing ground in Haven and allowing the Red Templars to breach our defenses and massacre our people inside the gates. The decision I made that night is not the reason the refugees were killed. It was my lack of preparedness. That, I have already acknowledged. That, I bear responsibility for.”

            There was no response from Addison as she looked away from him, only silence and the rise and fall of Cullen’s chest, and the slight pang in his head. He would have to attach this report to the other they had of the Inquisition’s soldier casualties. He would have to face, again, the loss of life at Haven. He would bear the responsibility every day, and this newest report was only added weight.

            “I’m sorry.”

            Cullen almost didn’t hear the words, barely audible as Addison continued to avoid his eyes.

            “I’m sorry, Cullen,” she said again, this time slightly louder as she turned, hurrying to the side of Cullen’s office, and opening the door to his right.

            “Addison.” Cullen wasn’t entirely certain why he was calling her name, his chest heavy from her accusations just as much as he was confused by her apology. But he needed to at least tell her that she was headed toward the fragmented ramparts and dead-end, but she was already gone.

            The door didn’t close completely behind her, and Cullen began to follow after as he heard a crack, followed by a sharp gasp.

            “Addison!” Cullen pushed open the door to find Addison sitting in the musty room, light filtering through the boarded windows. She was on the stone floor, yanking her ankle from a hole in the floor that had wood paneling over it, the plank seeming to have collapsed under her and allowed her to fall through.

            “Are you hurt?”

            Addison didn’t answer, her face twisting as she tugged again on her leg, using both of her hands to pull herself free.

            Cullen crouched by her side. “You could have a sprain. If you’ll take off your boot, I can—”

            “Cullen.” Her voice broke around his name, and he saw her lower lip trembling as she blinked once, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s my fault.”

            He wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that, but was more concerned about her ankle. “If you’ll just—”

            “I promised them. I promised that the Inquisition could protect them. That I could protect them.” Addison’s shoulders were shaking, and she buried her face in her knees. “You didn’t abandon them—I did. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. It was me. I should’ve tried to reach them, I-I-” Her words slurred together. “There were children. Carson and Eppie were Lina’s friends. Carson, with curly hair and terrified eyes who started talking again after weeks, who was playing again. He asked me what would happen if the village was attacked again. He asked me to promise they would be protected. And I promised.”

            Cullen could only watch as the woman who had combatted exhaustion with dry humor and death with more determination to save lives seemed to hit her breaking point.

            “I’m sorry.” The words she managed to say were the same, tremors rolling through her body as she curled around herself. She looked so much smaller, like she could almost shrink into the floor and disappear.

            Cullen dropped from his crouch to sit on the floor beside her with one knee raised, a maneuver that made him glad he wasn’t wearing his armor. He didn’t know how to comfort a crying woman, but he knew what Addison felt, and he knew the words she needed to hear. “It’s not your fault.”

            Another tremor shook her frame, and Cullen reached out, putting an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him immediately, still with her knees raised almost to her chin. She ducked her head into his chest, and he could feel her shaking against him.

            “I promised to protect them.”

            Cullen wrapped his other arm around her too, holding her. He took a slow breath, the smell of elfroot rising from Addison’s hair. One of her hands came up to his arm, grasping his sleeve and holding onto him.

            Her shaking slowly subsided as moments stretched into minutes. When she spoke again, her voice was scratchy. “I’m sorry.”

            “You have no need to apologize,” Cullen told her quietly, unsure if he should stop holding her, though she was still grasping his sleeve.

            “I do. I was angry at myself, and I blamed you for losing the hamlet.”

            Cullen shook his head. “I’ve heard far worse before.” The weeks after the chantry was destroyed and Kirkwall fell to madness, the line had not been short of people who had lost loved ones and demanded justice from Cullen, who could not give it to them.

            Addison laughed shortly, the sound hollow and weak. “That hardly means I should be adding to the repertoire.” She let her hand drop now, and Cullen sat back, releasing his hold around her. “I also am sorry for the… all this.” She made a vague gesture toward herself. Her eyes were red and swollen, and strands of hair had come loose of her tie and were falling around her face.

            It took Cullen a moment to realize she was referring to herself, apologizing for letting herself break down. But by then she was already standing, and Cullen caught a brief wince of pain flash across her face as he got to his feet as well.

            He wasn’t sure whether or not he should address her apology or her ankle first, but as he opened his mouth to try to formulate some kind of response, she said, “Potions are fully restocked, so I’ll send some your way tonight.” Her eyes were everywhere but Cullen.

            “Addison—”

            “I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time. Thank you for the report.” She took a few steps back toward Cullen’s office, and he caught sight of her limp as she opened the door again and let herself through.

            He hurried after her, but was left still searching for words as she moved through his office and left him alone in the room, the report sitting on his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I solemnly promise this is the last heavy chapter for a while! Instead of the doom and gloom interactions, we'll have some purely sweet (and funny!) moments soon.  
> As always, thank you for reading. <3


	19. Honey Mead

            “From Ilara’s letter, it seems all is well en route to Crestwood.” Leliana shuffled through a mountain papers. They were all buried in reports now, Cullen with his own stack of parchment, and Josephine with a pile attached to her clipboard. They stood in the War Room, meeting as they did at least once a day in an attempt to keep up with what they were all doing.

            Cullen rubbed his neck, the muscles tighter than usual from lying in a strange position the night before. He’d been sleeping better in Skyhold than he had in Haven, though it wasn’t for lack of bad dreams. Rather, he was fairly sure it was the massive hole in his ceiling that kept fresh air blowing through his room despite the cold spring air.

            Josephine kept insisting that they fix the hole, and Cullen kept making excuses that other parts of Skyhold should take priority in construction, as he wasn’t sure that _I happen to like the giant hole in my roof_ would meet Josephine’s approval.

            “And how is Mistress Dagna doing?” Josephine asked, squinting at something on one of her pages.

            “Very well,” Leliana answered. “I think she will be an incredibly asset to the Inquisition. The surgeon, Rueben, is making Skyhold somewhat of a medical center as well. Villagers from surrounding areas have been coming to see him, which is excellent for our trade and for our reputation.”

            “We’re becoming more and more trusted,” Josephine added, nodding to herself. “This will help the Inquisition’s image.”

            Cullen now rolled his head, digging his fingers into the clenched muscles on the right side of his spine.

            “I’ve heard his bedside manner leaves much to be desired, but no one has questioned his expertise.” Leliana thumbed through more papers, her gloves sitting on the war table in front of her. “Furthermore, he’s training the apothecary.”

            Mention of Addison made Cullen’s hand freeze at the back of his neck, and Leliana’s eyes flicked to him as she took in his reaction.

            _How does she always do that?_ Cullen wondered, lowering his hand to his side as he cleared his throat and looked down at the war table. He hadn’t so much as seen Addison since he told her the news of the hamlet, and even though (and against his better judgment) he had stopped by Undercroft twice, she hadn’t been there either time.

            “Mistress Mare?” Josephine asked.

            “Yes. It seems she’s been assisting with surgeries during the day and attending to her apothecary duties at night,” Leliana replied.

            Cullen frowned to himself. She had been always exhausted at Haven, with only the role of apothecary then. If she was taking on the role of apprentice to a surgeon in addition to her duties as apothecary, she would be working herself into the ground. He needed to check in with her soon. If only she wasn’t avoiding him, and somehow never around when he sought her out.

            “Isn’t that—” Cullen raised his head, only to see Leliana looking at him squarely, eyes glittering with something unreadable. Cullen coughed once. “Will she need an assistant to manage the work?”

            “I will ask her,” Josephine scribbled the note down, and Cullen was glad to look at her rather than Leliana. “She has done exemplary work so far, I would not want her to consider leaving the Inquisition due to overwork.”

            “Oh, Josie,” Leliana said, a smirk playing across her face. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

            Cullen wasn’t entirely sure why Leliana was saying that, but his face turned red all the same at her expression, and he glanced away in a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment.

            Josephine hummed to herself. “I hope that is the case.”

            Cullen, ready to move on before Leliana could give him any more loaded looks, asked, “What’s the next report to discuss?”

 

* * *

             

            “No,” Addison said flatly.

            “Oh, come on. This’ll be fun.”

            Addison stared at the dwarf. “And that’s exactly what you usually say before something starts smoking or blows up entirely.”

            Dagna waved her hand airily as if she was dissipating Addison’s worry. “I promise, I’ve never blown up anything in a tavern before.”

            Stitches, who had been watching the exchange quietly, sighed. “Take a break.”

            Addison scowled at him. He’d come to see her in Undercroft with the invitation to drink with the Chargers at the Herald’s Rest, and Dagna had immediately decided that Addison needed to go.

            If she was being honest with herself, she was scared to stop working. In the last week, since she learned that the hamlet had been destroyed and bodies found, she found herself staring at nothing the moment she wasn’t making a potion or helping with a surgery.

            Then the guilt would creep over her. Eppie and Carson shouldn’t have died. And she should have never promised they would be protected. Her promise had turned into a lie. Just like her promise to Alex.

            “Addie?” Dagna asked, the brightness in her tone slightly dampened with concern.

            Addison sniffed, rubbing her hand under her nose absently. “I have a surgery to assist with tomorrow morning—”

            “Not anymore,” Stitches said evenly.

            Addison blinked. “What?”

            “I talked to old Grot,” Stitches explained. “I thought you could use a day off. Sister Maren and I both had breaks since Haven. You haven’t taken any.”

            Addison stared at him with annoyance although her throat was tightening with emotion. It was something her mother had always fussed at her about—she was never good at taking care of herself when other people needed to be cared for as well. And she was used to having no one to care for her. But now Stitches was looking at her with a combination of something stern and soft, deeply familial in a way that made Addison’s unable to get truly angry.

            Addison was too good at pushing Rose away by now, as she knew the patterns well enough to simply avoid her friend when she needed to. She avoided Lina and Rhys as well, though then her guilt was added to at leaving them to Rose and Sister Maren while she buried herself in potion-making.

            “Reuben’s no doubt angry,” Addison muttered, though there was barely any bite left in her voice. She didn’t want to spend tomorrow curled up in bed and thinking of the hamlet if she had time off. She would rather be half-asleep and listening to Reuben’s slightly chauvinistic grumblings.

            Stitches stepped forward and clapped Addison’s shoulder. “Not angry. He said you needed rest, as you were likely to fall asleep on your feet these days.”

            Dagna bounced on the balls of her feet. “Perfect! Let’s go to the Herald’s Rest then.” She broke into a wide grin. “And get you completely wasted.”

            Addison felt herself smiling without meaning to, the motions unfamiliar after the last week and she quickly quashed it to say, “Dagna, I’m not going to drink myself into a blackout.”

            “Who said anything about a blackout? There’s a good, thick line between wasted and passed out on the floor and—”

            Addison held up a hand, incredulous. “Is the purpose of the break tomorrow resting? Because if I’m hung-over—”

            “Aye, then you’ll sleep it off and get plenty of rest in the afternoon,” Stitches replied.

            Addison snorted, a breath away from a laugh. “Fine.”

            That was how she found herself in the Herald’s Rest, seated around the table with the Chargers, Dagna, and Sera. Sera had already been tipsy when they’d entered, and now with Addison on her second round of honey mead, Sera was on her fourth or fifth ale with Dagna cheering her on. The tavern wasn’t stuffed full, but had just enough people that the air was light and lively. It didn’t feel like the Singing Maiden, where Addison always tried to wedge herself in the corner among the sea of strangers. And with Stitches and Dagna, at the very least, she felt as if she was just drinking with friends.

            The Chargers were surprisingly easy to be around. Addison couldn’t help but to laugh at their jokes, and found that she actually quite liked them, the Iron Bull included.

            She hadn’t forgotten the first time they spoke, and the eerie way he seemed to know what she was thinking about the mages and the Templars. He was much less intimidating with strange dark liquid in his mug and slouched in a chair that was much too small for him, making up strange nicknames for Krem and laughing at his own puns.

            The others were talking to her as well. It started with just Dagna and Stitches, but soon Dalish and Krem from across the table were asking her questions, which made her ask some in return.

            Addison’s face was warm and she was four honey mead’s into the night when the Chargers began drunkenly singing their song, making Addison laugh and nod her head along with the tune, Stitches’s deep baritone from beside her.

            “Stitches, you sing really nicely,” Addison said, her voice a slightly higher pitch than normal as she sunk a little lower in her seat.

            “ _You_ sing really nice, Addie,” Dagna put in, grinning widely and a little drunkenly. “I hear you sometimes in Undercroft. It’s really pretty.”

            Addison felt heat crawling up her neck but smiled in spite of herself. “I didn’t realize you could hear.”

            “Sound echoes, you know,” Dagna muttered before resting her head on the table.

            “That’s one down,” Krem said loudly. “You ready for another round, Chief?”

            “Are you?” Bull downed everything left in his mug and set it back down on the table loudly.

            Sera crawled up from where she had been dozing under the table. “Don’t start with out me, yeah? Ready too.”

            It was after that fifth honey mead that Addison’s head started swimming. Somehow Sera was now next to Addison, perched on the table and swinging her legs.

            Somehow the topic was…

            _What are we talking about again?_ Addison wondered at it, tugging her hair lose from its tie.

            “So you’re really, really telling me you never had anyone…” Sera stared at Addison meaningfully, like Addison was supposed to remember the conversation.

            Addison rubbed her temples. “What?”

            “You know.” Sera grinned, holding up her fingers in a V and wiggling her tongue between them.

            Addison groaned loudly, covering her face with her hands. “Did I say that?”

            “Sure you did.” Sera cackled loudly, but the sound was fuzzy.

            “Look,” Addison slurred, resting her hands on the table and nearly knocking over her mug, which someone caught before it spilled. “I’m firmly of the opinion that if you need something done, take care of it yourself.”

            Sera stared at her. “You mean you can just—” She leaned over as if she were trying to duck her head unsuccessfully to her crotch. “Not possible.”

            “Not _that_ ,” Addison protested. “I mean…” She held up her hand, nearly falling out of her chair, and wiggled her fingers, sending Sera into a fresh wave of giggles. “Oh, damn it all.” Addison grumbled, wrinkling her nose.

            Stitches was snoozing in the chair next to her, and everyone else at the table was sleeping as well. Everyone except Bull and Krem, who were laughing at something together. Sera, too, now slumped back to her position beneath the table, leaving Addison to stare into space, the world still spinning around her.

            She was surrounded by people she was starting to like, and beginning to truly relax. She felt close to happy. No, maybe she _was_ happy. Which seemed strangely unusual, because most of the time—

Addison flinched at nothing, straightening up in her chair, staring now at the mess of the table. She stood, staggering slightly as she began gathering mugs, busying herself.

            She had forgotten for a moment the crushing weight that had been following her for months now. There were moments of happiness between, but not in the last week. She’d kept herself busy and didn’t talk much with Dagna or Harrit or Adan. She’d distanced herself from Rose. She’d kept away from Cullen.

            _Cullen._

            Addison’s slow movements somehow still managed to knock over a mug she was trying to drag to the pile she was making, sending it clattering to the floor.

            Bull was there suddenly, picking it up for her and setting it back on the table. “Drank enough?”

            “Yeah.” Addison struggled to look at him, a combination of the room moving around her and feeling unsure of how to deal with other people. “I should go.” She dug through her pockets for coins, finding some and trying to hand them to Bull.

            He wouldn’t take them. “It’s on me tonight.”

            Addison shook her head. “No. Take it.”

            “I’m putting it on Varric’s tab, so don’t feel bad.”

            That pulled a small smile from Addison. “Poor Varric. I might want to help him then.” She took a wobbly step forward to set the coins down next to the pile of mugs. “See you, Bull.”

            “See you, kid.”

            Addison waved half-heartedly, trying to put one foot in front of the other as she left the Herald’s Rest. She felt dizzy still, even if the chill of Frostback air brushed her cheeks and blew her hair around her face.

            She was outside Cullen’s office then, and moderately perplexed as to why she was standing there.

            _No, you know why. You want to see him,_ Addison told herself. She frowned deeply, staring at the tarnished handle that she could easily reach.

            She was embarrassed that she had cried in front of him. She felt guilty for yelling at him. She wanted to hold him, and to have him hold her in return.

            She also hiccupped.

            For some reason, that was the initiative she needed, and she pushed the door open a crack. “Commander Cullen?” Addison called, calling him formally for whatever odd reason.

            “Come in.”

            She pushed inside before she could change her mind, but the force she exerted opening the door sent her stumbling a few more steps inside, vision slipping out of focus.

            “Oh.” Addison said intelligently.

            Cullen was holding several pieces of paper, seated at his desk. The room was dim, with light from a few candles on his desk and a torch lit at the back corner. The firelight glinted on Cullen’s hair, turning it a golden red.

            “Addison?” There was concern in his voice as he hurried toward her, out of his armor and in that plain white undershirt that always made him look unfairly good.

            “That’s me.” She didn’t know why he sounded so worried, even as she swayed and warm hands caught her, one on her arm and the other wrapping around her waist.

            He muttered something under his breath about Andraste. “How much have you been drinking?”

            “Not much at all,” Addison lied, though the walls were swirling around her. Her face was very close to Cullen’s. “Well. Maybe a little much.”

            Cullen made an exasperated noise, but he didn’t let go of her. “It seems I was worried for you with reason.”

            “You were worried for me?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it, though she couldn’t help feeling surprised. First Stitches was looking out for her, and now Cullen was worried for her. _Why are people suddenly caring?_ she wondered.

            “I—ah—yes.” Cullen said, his honeyed eyes flicking away from her. “The last time we spoke…”

            “I’m sorry.” Addison wanted to lean into him. She always wanted to lean into him. It was harder to hold back now, her head lighter but her heart just as heavy.

            “You have no need to apologize.”

            Addison shook her head, which only made her lose her balance and Cullen’s grip around her tightened. “You said that before. But I didn’t mean to… to have you see me like that. I don’t usually fall apart—”

            “I know.” He cut her off, but his tone was gentle.

            “But Cullen.” Addison felt herself turning slightly to face him more directly, so they were standing nose to nose. He still kept a light hold of her. “I should’ve gone back to try to help them. The refugees and the villagers.” Her tone was too soft—too quiet. She sounded weak and though she was definitely a little drunk, she wasn’t exceedingly comfortable with that.

            His tired face turned even more serious than before, shadows thrown across it from the flickering light behind him. “Addison—”

            “I know you wouldn’t have done it. And I understand now why. You’re the commander. You take responsibility for your troops and have to make the hard decisions, and you blame yourself for not having prepared enough. But my job is just to save lives. Any life, even if it’s one that’s harder to reach. Even if you don't understand that.” Addison felt her head clearing ever so slightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut despite the comforting golden brown that almost urged her to keep staring at Cullen. “I don’t blame you for it. I’m sorry I did. It was unfair.”

            She heard him sigh deeply. “You’re just as stubborn in your apologies as you are in your chastisements.”

            Addison peeled her eyes open, squinting at him, something almost like hope unfurling in her chest. “Does that mean you forgive me?” If he, at the very least, wasn’t put out with her or thinking less of her, she would feel a little better. Maybe she needed forgiveness more than a night of drinking.

            Cullen stared at her as if she’d greatly confused him. “Of course. Addison, I—”

            She exhaled in relief and rested her forehead on his shoulder then, and after a few moments she felt him relax, though she didn’t remember when he’d tensed before. And then his arms were around her again, encircling her and holding her to him.

            She held the sides of his shirt, the fabric crumpling between her fingers as she breathed in armor oil and faint scent of sweat on his skin. There was warmth radiating from him, and while Addison was content to stay in his arms for the next several centuries, something nagged at her alcohol-addled mind.

            Addison lifted her head and pulled back slightly. Cullen’s arms fell away, leaving Addison to emit a small noise of dissatisfaction. What was it she was supposed to check?

            “Warm.” Addison remembered, her frown deepening as she pressed her hand to Cullen’s forehead. “You’re too warm. Do you have a fever again?”

            “I don’t believe so.”

            “Hm.” Addison could feel his breathing. Her face was inches from his again, and she let her hand move from his forehead to his cheek. “You need to take care of yourself.”

            “As do you.”

            “I am.”

            “As am I.”

            “Hm.” Addison could only make the noncommittal noise again, her breath catching as their eyes stayed locked, her hand slowly falling away from his face. But then one of his hands, calloused but gentle, caught her own.

            Cullen leaned forward a fraction, and it was all that was needed to send Addison’s heart into a frantic race.

            “Are you going to kiss me, Cullen Rutherford?”

            Addison meant to say it as a joke, but it was as if she couldn’t get enough air, and instead her voice came out as a whisper.

            “I want to.” Cullen said softly, and Addison’s heart skipped a beat before it resumed slamming into her rib cage. “Maker, I want to.”

            Addison was flying. Well, she was spinning due to the honey mead, but the effects were added to by the man now telling her he wanted to kiss her. Andraste’s ass, she wanted to kiss _him._

But then his lips moved to form words. “I can’t.”

            Addison’s heart went from beating rapidly to dropping into her stomach as Cullen stepped back, rejection stinging like a slap across her cheek.

            Addison stared at him in confusion first, and then after a split second, embarrassment. “Alright, then,” she said evenly.

            “No, not that I—Addison, I—”

            “It’s fine,” Addison said quickly, feeling a little bit like she wanted to throw up and not entirely sure if it was the mead or the humiliation.

            “Not when you’ve been drinking.” Cullen said, but Addison couldn’t make out his facial expression due to her blurring vision. “It wouldn’t be right for me to—”

            “Right.” She said, in part understanding and in part realizing her last honey mead had truly hit her system. “I think I’m just going.... just going to go…”

            And then she was walking back out into the cool air, holding onto the bannister for dear life as she walked down the stairs and out into the main courtyard. _He wants to kiss me. Then he can’t kiss me. What bullshit is that?_ Addison grumbled internally as she wove her way across what was supposed to be fairly even grass but currently felt like mountainous terrain.

            She could sense someone walking a few steps behind her but figured if it was anyone dangerous, and Inquisition guard would shoot them. Perhaps not the most rational thought, but somehow it made sense to her.

            She was then back in her shared room, Lina and Rhys already sleeping. Rose asked her a question, but she wasn’t sure what she answered, instead flopping down on her cot and falling almost instantly asleep, mumbling something about Cullen and broad shoulders and it not being fair before she floated off into dreams.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addison's always a mess. One of these days she'll figure life out. 
> 
> (Thank you sooo much to everyone who's been reading~ I really really appreciate every kudos and comment. It makes me excited to keep writing about these dorks. <3)


	20. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peeks around corner*
> 
> Hi. So. I'm so sorry that this update is very, very late. Things went on a downward spiral for the last few months, and it was a struggle to want to write anything sweet and uplifting (which this chapter is meant to be). But I finally got myself back to writing, and this belated update is the result. 
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for the tardiness. <3 As always, thank you for your patience, and thank you for reading~

         Addison never slept well after drinking, and tonight was no exception.

         Rose’s snoring sounded like an avalanche, and Rhys kept squirming and digging his elbows into Addison’s side.

         Addison only got out of bed once, however, and with alcohol still in her system, she staggered pathetically across the room to get to their little table. She poured herself a glass of water, drank it all without breathing, and then crawled back underneath the blanket.

         She woke up several more times, though she wasn’t sure what was going on during any of them. She cracked an eye open when light began filtering through the window, but then immediately rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

         It wasn’t until someone bounced on the mattress that Addison groaned loudly and made the effort to sit up. “Whassit?”

         “Drink a little too much last night?”

         “No.”

         Rose snorted in response.

         “Okay, fine. I did. I just…” Addison rubbed her hand across her face. Fortunately she didn’t have much of a headache. She flopped forward so she could rest her forehead on Rose’s bony shoulder. “I’m so tired.”

         “I know. You deserved a break.”

         Addison could feel Rose’s hands in her hair, gently pulling through tangled strands. “Lina and Rhys here?”

         “No. Lina’s helping out in the gardens and Sister Maren took Rhys for the morning.” Rose poked at Addison’s ear, and Addison swatted her fingers away. “You want to tell me why Commander Cullen followed you back here last night?”

         “What?” Addison sat up so quickly she felt a little dizzy, her vision going black around the edges. She hissed, wincing. “Wait, did you just say Cullen… he what?”

         Rose was looking at Addison with clear amusement. “You don’t remember?”

         “I…” Addison stared blankly. _Cullen followed me home? I was drinking with the Chargers at the Herald’s Rest, and then…_

Memories flooded back as Addison gasped in horror. She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, shit.”

         “That doesn’t sound good. What happened, Addie?”

         Addison didn’t look up. She could feel her face heating in humiliation. She’d stumbled drunkenly into Cullen’s office, which wouldn’t be terrible in itself. She’d apologized again, which also wasn’t _that_ embarrassing. But then she’d clung onto his shirt, _hugging_ him, and asked him if he would kiss her.

         “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

         “Well, I’m glad Lina isn’t around to hear this.”

         Addison finally removed her palms from over her eyes so she could glare at Rose. “Oh, like you never swear in front of Lina.”

         “I do not!” Rose squawked indignantly, which was a complete lie.

         Addison was to preoccupied to argue, cringing at her actions the night before. “Rose, I asked Cullen to… to kiss me.”

         There’s a beat of silence. “Well, did he?”

         Addison winced again. “No. That makes it all so much worse. He’s probably upset, or he thinks I’m a complete idiot. Which is warranted, because I _am_ an idiot—”

         “You’re not an idiot,” Rose cut in, getting up and retrieving Addison’s cup. “And he can’t be that upset, considering he was barely two steps behind you and hovering in concern when you came back home last night.”

         Addison had no memory of Cullen following her back, and it made her feel infinitely more pathetic. “Shit,” Addison repeated, because she didn’t know how else to feel about this whole situation. Rose handed Addison the cup of water, and Addison took it gratefully.

         “Is this you confessing you have feelings for him?”

         Addison choked, water dribbling out of her mouth and down her chin. “What?” She spluttered, trying to wipe her face with the back of her sleeve. Why was she such a mess today?

         Rose eyed her with no small amount of judgment. “Don’t act like it’s surprising. I’m about as observant as a rock, and even I suspected there was something going on.”

         Addison shook her head. “I… I mean, I think he’s… he’s… um.”

         “Tall? Handsome?”

         “Kind. Strong. Stubborn. Dedicated.” Addison felt the need to correct Rose, because while Cullen was definitely attractive, that wasn’t all there was to him. So she continued to babble, “Sometimes he’s funny, but usually only when I’m giving him a hard time. He can be a pain in the ass, too. But he also makes me feel like things could be alright even when they’re falling apart. I…” Addison drifted off, finally catching herself. “Oh, no.”

         “Addie, you’re in so deep,” Rose sighed, patting Addison’s arm.

         “I know,” Addison groaned, rubbing the back of her head across her brow. “Well, I didn’t know until now. But I just…”

         “You should talk to him.”

         “And what would I say? ‘Hullo, Cullen, it has recently come to my attention that I have a childish crush on you. You might find me incredibly awkward, especially since you didn't want to kiss me, but—’”

         “What exactly happened with that?” Rose asked, frowning.

         Addison shrugged. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that I’ve come to consider Cullen a… a friend. And I don’t want to screw things up.” Addison stood, stretching slightly before she put her cup back down on the table. “I think I… I owe him another apology.”

         “Addie, I feel like he might—”

         “It’s fine, Rose,” Addison interrupted. She didn’t want to get her hopes up. She respected Cullen as a friend, and wouldn’t expect anything more. And she had likely made him uncomfortable the night before. “Remember when you used to make me food when we had fights?”

         Rose smiled as she nodded. “Apology muffins.”

         Addison, though she was exhausted, embarrassed, a little sad, and definitely had minor hangover, still smiled back. Sometimes she forgot how grateful she was to have Rose as her friend. “Apology muffins. I think I might make some.”

         “I’ll go with you. I’m supposed to help make lunch today anyway.” Rose delicately rose, padding across the room and grabbing her cloak. It was getting closer and closer to summer weather, but Skyhold’s elevation kept the air cool, especially in the mornings and evenings.

         Addison took her cloak as well, fastening it before grabbing her bag. She made a mental note to thank Stitches for getting her today off later.

         Rose looped her arm through Addison’s as they left their room and walked along the edge of the courtyard. It was a comfortable silence, Skyhold mostly awake but not noisy yet.

         It wasn’t until they pushed through the doors of the kitchen and Rose let go of Addison that Addison asked, “What’s your recipe for the muffins? Blueberries and honey?”

         “Blueberries, honey, and love,” Rose answered shamelessly.

         Addison rolled her eyes but didn’t bother to make a snarky reply.

 

* * *

 

         Cullen let out a long breath once Rylen and Thirrin left his office along with some of the other higher-ranking soldiers who’d come for the briefing. They were planning on sending some troops to Crestwood since Lavellan was making process there with forward camps.

         While the meeting itself had gone relatively smoothly, Cullen kept glancing up at his door.

         It was foolish, really, to think that Addison would appear. But it was bothering Cullen like a strange itch under his skin. No, that wasn’t an accurate description.

         It was bothering Cullen like he couldn’t stop thinking about the way her hand felt in his—so cool against his eternally feverish touch. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she whispered his name, her words slightly slurred but her voice so soft. He couldn’t stop thinking about the smell of honey mead on her breath, sweet and heavy.

         He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

         The door shuts behind Thirrin, and Cullen walks back to his desk, where he stands in front of it and tries to distract himself with the maps of Crestwood he’d acquired from Leliana.

         He wasn't wearing his armor though his office was chilly, mostly because he needed the bite in the air to keep him alert. He had hardly slept the night before.

         It wasn’t as if Cullen was a complete stranger to having feelings for someone. He thought he had been in love at eighteen when he first met Solona Amell in Kinloch Hold. She had been so beautiful, and he had stuttered every time she spoke to him. But that was before Uldred’s madness, before Solona Amell died and Cullen began his downward spiral.

         In his first years in Kirkwall, he had only known anger and paranoia. He’d let it consume him, not thinking of anything outside of training and taking orders from Meredith. He’d slept with someone for the first time there, another Templar who was all hard edges and aggressive words. They had always sparred too roughly with each other when they trained, and one session had turned into something more. It morphed into a pattern for them, though Cullen had no idea what he was doing at the time. He hadn’t cared there weren’t any feelings involved, because he’d just wanted to numb himself with lyrium, work, and these sparring matches that turned into no-strings-attached sex.

         She had transferred to another circle after the Qunari invasion, which had probably been for the best. They only enabled each other in self-destructive tendencies. For her, it was drinking and fighting. For Cullen, it was lyrium and overworking.

         There had been other women interested in Cullen, and a few that Cullen noticed and stuttered around, but Cullen’s lifestyle wasn’t conducive to romantic entanglements. Or more accurately, Cullen never thought himself a suitable romantic partner. He had far too many problems—too many burdens.

         All these thoughts kept bouncing around inside Cullen’s head as he stared at the maps in his hands without actually looking at them.

         _It’s possible she didn’t actually want you to kiss her,_ Cullen told himself. _Or maybe it would have meant nothing to her._

Cullen set the maps back on his desk with a sigh. He felt ridiculous, thinking about this. He had wanted to badly to kiss her, to taste the mead that would still be on her tongue.

         He also wanted to hold her, to catch every eye-crinkling smile she gave him. He wanted _her._

But she had clearly drank too much the night before, and it had taken all of Cullen’s self-restraint to lean away from her, telling himself he would be taking advantage of her otherwise. So he could only follow her as she walked back to her room, and it drove him insane to watch her sway back and forth and not be able to slip an arm around her waist to steady her.

         Cullen ruffled through more papers on his desk and began pacing the length of his room as he read. There was a fresh stack of reports to get through, and Cullen intended to have it done before his meeting with Josephine and Leliana in the afternoon.

         After a few laps around his office, he began to focus on the words. It seemed like they were still having a hard time getting into Empress Celene’s good graces, though Josephine was pulling every string she could. Their camps in the Hinterlands were still holding well, and more relief was getting to the refugees at the Crossroads. People were also flocking to Redcliffe with Alexius gone, and it was becoming more and more of a safe haven.

         Cullen flipped to the last page of the report, finally stopping to sit at the edge of his desk.

         Someone knocked at his door, and Cullen didn’t bother to look up, completely immersed in his reading now. “Enter,” he called.

         There was a low creak, followed by a cough.

         He glanced in the direction of the noise, or rather, he meant to glance but instead found himself staring.

         Addison was shuffling into his office, her cheeks red and holding a basket. “Hi.”

         “Hello.” It was Cullen’s turn to cough, and the reports slipped out of his fingers, papers fluttering to the floor. Cullen felt heat rush to his face, and he quickly bent to collect the parchment.

         Icy fingers brushed his own, and the telltale smell of elfroot floated around him. Addison handed the papers she’d gathered back to Cullen, and they both straightened as Cullen shuffled the reports together.

         “I brought muffins,” Addison said, gesturing to the basket that she’d set down on his desk. “I was initially going to make small talk to try to get past the awkward bit, but we both know I’m not good at things like that. So.”

         Cullen could barely process her words as he set down the reports on top of a stack of books. “You—what?” Maker, he was terrible at this.

         “Apology muffins,” Addison blurted. “I made apology muffins. To apologize. For last night.”

         Cullen stared at her, bewildered. “Why are you apologizing for last night?” If anything, he had explaining to do. He’d said he wanted to kiss her. He’d admitted it, and perhaps made her confused in the process.

         “I think I made you uncomfortable?” She phrased it as a question, tilting her head to the side and avoiding meeting Cullen’s eyes.

         “No.” Cullen said immediately. “No, you—you didn’t make me uncomfortable. You were…”

         “Drunk?”

         The way she stated the word, complete with an obvious wince, made Cullen chuckle, some of the tension dissipating. “Well, yes. But I wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, I worried that you felt I—ah—that I confused you in some way.”

         Green eyes were back on Cullen again. “Confused me?”

         Warm sunlight filtered in from the windows behind Cullen’s desk, and the spots that it hit Addison’s hair made the strands glint like gold. “What I said about… Maker’s breath, I’m terrible at this.” Cullen’s heart, which had picked up slightly at Addison’s entrance, now gave a particularly loud thump in his chest.

         “I am too,” Addison admitted. “I wasn’t confused before, but I think maybe I am now. Cullen, I value your friendship. I wouldn’t ever want to jeopardize that.”

         “Nor I.” Cullen no longer knew where the conversation was leading, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “You… you mean a lot to me,” he said softly.

         Addison blinked. “Really?” She bit her lip as she spoke. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

         It made Cullen smile, a little wider this time. There was something so refreshing about the moments that Addison speaks with such frank honesty. “You do. Mean a lot to me.”

         Addison pushed her hair away from her face, her lips pursed together. “Look, I’m just going to say a lot of things, and it’s completely fine if you want to forget about them and tell me to forget them, too. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but then again I never seem to know what I’m doing. What are _we_ doing? Because we’ve been through so much just in the last two months, and somehow things make more sense when I’m with you. And things between us have been so far from perfect, yet at the same time, I care for you. If you don’t—”

         “I do. Addison.” Cullen felt as if his heart was tightening, constricting painfully as he searched for the right words. “I care for you. More than I should,” he said, his voice low. He was distracted because of how much he cared for her. He wouldn’t be good for her.

         “What do you mean?” Her expression was unreadable, brow furrowing.

         “You know that I… you haven’t always seen me in the best light.” He had to say it, had to remind her that he was still struggling with removing himself from lyrium, had to remind her that his past was dark, had to remind her that he was still haunted and couldn’t seem to escape from his life before.

         “We’re not perfect people, Cullen,” Addison said. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you.” She let out a shaky breath, her gaze fixed on Cullen.

         He felt raw beneath it, like she was staring into him. How had she broken down his walls? He had let her in, let her see more than he intended, yet she still had feelings for him.

         And it was undeniable he felt for her—he had started falling for her that night they stood out in the woods beyond the village raided by bandits, left in ashes and death. Because for all the destruction, Addison was life. Stubborn, and gruff, yes, but so strong, too brave, hiding kindness underneath a rough exterior. She was beautiful, and he was only falling further into his feelings for her.

         _We’re not perfect people,_ she’d said. No, they weren’t perfect. But she made him better—made him want to keep fighting for the life he wanted but had felt for so long that he didn’t deserve.

         His hand rose slowly, running his thumb across her cheekbone as he cups her face, and Addison’s breath shudders again.

         “I would ask if you were going to kiss me,” Addison began, her voice low again, “but it seems too reminiscent of last night when you turned me down, and—”

         Cullen leaned forward, capturing her mouth with his own.

         For a moment, neither of them moved, Cullen almost startled at his own actions. But then Addison leaned in, her arms wrapping around him.

         So he kissed her, moving his lips against hers in motions that seemed long forgotten, almost foreign, holding her face gently with one hand while the other pulled her closer to him, resting on the small of her back.

         There was a lingering taste of honey on her tongue, and he would happily drown himself in the honey and elfroot scent that was just _Addison,_ because having her in his arms made sense. It felt right.

         Addison was the first to break the kiss, pulling back slightly, though she kept her hands locked behind Cullen. “I just… just remembered you said you wanted to kiss me last night.”

         The confusion on her face was somehow so sweet, so unlike her usual expression, that Cullen couldn't help but laugh. “I did.”

         Addison dropped her hands from around Cullen only to smack his arm. “Why didn’t you say anything about it earlier? I was rambling, thinking that you didn’t return my feelings, and you just—” She made an unintelligible noise.

         “I thought you knew!” Cullen defended himself, raising his hands in front of him to ward off her anger. “You seemed to remember everything else.”

         Addison wrinkled her nose. “The details are murky. I don’t think I even _want_ to remember all the things I said to Sera.”

         “Sera?” Cullen asked incredulously. “You drank with Sera?”

         “Sera, Bull, and the Chargers,” Addison listed.

         Cullen stared at her. “I’m surprised you were able to stand straight after that at all.” The Chargers and Sera had a reputation for their nights of revelry. He was now impressed, and a little intimidated, that Addison had survived it.

         “If I recall correctly, I wasn’t standing straight at all. It was more of a sideways stumble.”

         “Ah, yes. You were a little… less vertical.” Cullen answered. They stared at each other for a moment before Addison laughed, and Cullen joined in. “Are you feeling alright?”

         “I’m fully vertical at the least,” Addison replied with a smirk. She looked at Cullen with a warmth that he could feel more than the sunlight streaming through the windows to his left. “I need to pick Rhys up from Sister Maren. But…”

         “Tomorrow,” Cullen said quickly.

         “Tomorrow?”

         Cullen felt, for what seemed like the hundredth time today, blood rush to his face. “If you have time tomorrow, would you like to, ah, lunch?”

         “Would I like to lunch?” Addison asked innocently.

         Cullen gave her a helpless look, floundering. “To eat lunch?”

         “With…?”

         Cullen huffed in annoyance. “You’re impossible.”

         Addison laughed again, a grin breaking across her face. “You’ve known this since we first met.” She raised her chin, leaning slightly as she pressed a kiss to Cullen’s cheek. “Yes, I would love to have lunch with you tomorrow. Harritt’s wanted to talk to you about something too, so maybe we could meet in the Undercroft?”

         “Only if you agree not to tease me so mercilessly.”

         Addison’s grin widened. “You ask so much.”

         Cullen rolled his eyes in response, but Addison was already walking away. Over her shoulder, she threw back, “Don’t forget to try the apology muffins.”

         The door swung shut behind her, and Cullen realized that it was likely he would never stop falling for the apothecary named Addison Mare.


	21. Good Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long yet again. As a really quick re-cap, Cullen and Addison (finally) talked about their feelings in the last chapter. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for your patience. <3

            They fell into a pattern, a comfortable one that made it easy for Cullen in a world where very few things were still easy. It was easy—so easy—to hold Addison’s hand. It was easy to let his eyes fall closed when she leaned against him. It was easy for his lips to find hers when they could catch a moment alone.

            Finding time for each other—that was the hard part.

            In the days that followed their initial confession of deeper feelings for one another, Cullen and Addison’s schedules remained as busy as ever. The most common meeting for the two of them was in Cullen’s office after sunset, when Addison would pull up a chair and rest her head on Cullen’s shoulder as he went through stacks of paperwork, her golden hair brushing against Cullen’s cheek.

            They would murmur together about what they had done since morning, Cullen would walk Addison back to her room that opened onto the courtyard, their fingers intertwined. He would kiss her goodnight, and she would press her the back of her hand to his forehead, checking for a fever. There hadn’t been one. It made them both weary, though they didn’t say it openly. Cullen took Addison’s prescribed potions carefully, but Cullen felt like this was merely the calm before the storm.

            And in many ways, their first week together like this was the calm before the storm as well. It was exactly seven days later that Cullen stood before the war table around midday and frowned as Leliana explained the situation in Crestwood.

            Josephine nodded along. “Yes, I think that would be appropriate. I’ll notify Misstress Mare and ask her if she feels she could accompany the soldiers leaving tomorrow morning for Caer Bronach.”

            “Tomorrow morning?” Cullen asked, his voice unexpectedly sharp. “That’s not giving her very much warning.”

            “True,” Josephine sighed with a shake of her head. “But the sooner we can get a healer to Caer Bronach, the better. Mistress Mare is gaining respect as a surgeon after her training with Surgeon Grot. There are many people injured in the surrounding areas of Crestwood that need attention, and I don’t think Mistress Mare would disagree the matter is of importance.”

            Cullen shifted his weight, his hand going to his sword hilt. Sunlight streamed in from the windows opposite him, giving him a slight headache from the brightness.

            He agreed, of course, with the idea of sending Addison to serve as a temporary healer in Caer Bronach, but it didn’t feel right. _It’s personal feelings,_ Cullen chastised himself. He was letting personal feelings come into a conversation about the Inquisition, something that he was supposed to be professional enough not to do. “Of course,” Cullen offered, forcing his grip on his sword to relax.

            Addison worked for the Inquisition, as did he. If Leliana felt that Addison was needed in Caer Bronach to serve as healer there for the next few weeks, then Cullen had to agree. If it were anyone but his… but Addison, he wouldn’t have taken issue with it.

            “Will the apothecary be well protected?” That was a question he was allowed to ask, even as commander. “Crestwood is still dangerous, as is the road there.”

            Leliana’s cold blue eyes were fixed on Cullen when he glanced her way, and he quickly averted his gaze. “We can’t guarantee her safety, but that is typical of anyone in service to the Inquisition. The soldiers know she is a civilian, however, and will take precautions.”

            It didn’t reassure Cullen, but he knew that was all he would get—and the best he would get. “Understood.”

            “I’ll write her orders,” Leliana said evenly. “Cullen, don’t think Josie and I haven’t noticed your personal relationship with her. You can be the one to deliver the letter, if you wish.”

            Cullen took a sharp intake of breath, taking in Josephine’s sympathetic expression and Leliana’s unreadable one. “I… Oh.” He hadn’t expected either of them to notice, but in retrospect, Leliana had caught one long ago—perhaps even before Cullen had. All of her cryptic looks and clipped words about the apothecary were no doubt a result of her noticing Cullen’s growing feelings for her.

            “We don’t want to pry,” Josephine said, with hint of firmness in her tone directed at Leliana. “And please, Cullen, don’t believe that we would send her to Caer Bronach because of your connection to her. This is purely a professional decision. We would send the surgeon, but he specifically stated when he hired him he only desired to stay within Skyhold. We’ve sent Addison on extended missions before and thought it was appropriate.”

            “I understand, Josephine,” Cullen answered, though he realized he still sounded slightly stiff. In truth, he was still feeling a little shocked at the realization his fellow Inquisition advisors knew so much about his personal life. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

            “Good.” Leliana leaned over the map. “Lavellan is on her way to meet Hawke’s contact further east in Crestwood now that the bandits in Caer Bronach have been driven out and the rift over the lake closed.”

            Cullen forced himself to focus, eyes drawn to the village of Crestwood. “What about the mayor? Has he been found?”

            “Not yet.” Leliana answered. “We’ve issued warnings to all Inquisition forces in the area to look for him, and to capture him if sighted.”

            “He has much to answer for,” Josephine said quietly.

            The rest of their meeting went by smoothly, leaving Cullen to wait for Leliana to write out two copies of Addison’s orders. “I’ll take this to the leader of the squadron we’re sending.” Leliana folded one of the papers and tucked it into her jacket. She held out the other to Cullen. “You can bring this to Addison.”

            “Right.” Cullen said, staring at the parchment. “I’ll do that.”

           

* * *

 

 

            Addison was more than happy to finally have an afternoon off as she climbed the stairs up from Undercroft, adjusting her bag strap on her shoulder before stretching. Her fingertips hit the cold stone ceiling as she wound up the steps, and she dragged them along the surface.

            She wanted a nap. A nap in the sun, maybe in the courtyard—

            “Addison.”

            Her lips curled into a smile. _Or I could see Cullen instead,_ she thought.

            Cullen stood at the top of the spiraling stairwell, the door into the great hall open behind him.

            “Hello,” Addison dragged out the word as she hurried up the last few steps and quickly checked behind Cullen for anyone nearby before she kissed Cullen’s cheek, stubble scratching against her lips. She pulled away, only for her smile to fade when Cullen stared back at her, looking tired, which he always was. But there was something else to his expression. “Cullen? Is something wrong?”

            “What? No. Nothing’s wrong.” He let out a slow breath. “Do you have a moment?”

            “I have several. I’m on break for the afternoon.” Addison frowned as a knot of uncertainty began to form in her stomach. “What’s going on?”

            Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve just come from a meeting with Leliana and Josephine. I… I have orders from Leliana. For you.”

            Addison felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise as Cullen handed her a thin white paper she hadn’t noticed him holding. “Orders from the Spymaster?” Addison would be lying if she said Leliana didn’t intimidate her. Or generally terrify her. She unfolded the note, finding a refined scrawl inside.

 

            _Addison Mare,_

_You are hereby requested by the Inquisition to accompany the ten soldiers leaving tomorrow at dawn for Crestwood. Their squadron will take you to Caer Bronach, where you will serve as healer for two weeks, or until it is otherwise deemed as stable in the region. It is a seven day journey to Caer Bronach on horseback, thus this task assigned to you will last a month. You will be compensated with a bonus for your work._

_Supplies will be brought to you there, so you do not need to prepare to bring anything other than your personal belongings._

_Regards,_

_Leliana_

“I didn’t realize we were on a first name basis,” Addison muttered, staring at the orders numbly.

            “Are you… are you alright with this?” Cullen asked softly.

            Addison looked up at him with a sigh. “Do I have to be? I’ve heard that Crestwood’s dangerous and many of the villagers have been injured, so I know I’m needed. But Rose won’t be thrilled that I’m leaving her alone with Lina and Rhys for a month, and… well, it’ll be strange to be away from Skyhold for that long, too.”

            Cullen nodded. “I want to apologize, but I can’t. These are our duties. As much as I desired to ask them to send someone else—”

            “I know,” Addison interrupted, because she _did_ understand. It didn’t stop part of her, a treacherous thought in her mind, from saying, _You could’ve stopped them from sending me away._ She ignored the voice, pushing it away. “I should pack.”

            Cullen didn’t move, still standing in the doorway. “You said you’re free this afternoon?”

            The small smile returned to Addison’s face, though she felt significantly more exhausted, no longer excited about her afternoon off. “Yes.”

            Cullen reached forward, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that she hadn’t realized had fallen loose from her braid. “Can you meet me in the courtyard an hour before sunset?”

            Addison tilted her head, smile turning into a smirk. “Maybe. It’s my last night in Skyhold for a month. Are you going to make it worth my while, Commander?”

            Cullen’s eyes widened comically. “W-worth your while?” He choked on what could only be air. “I… I—”

            “I was teasing you!” Addison felt her cheeks warm at his reaction. “Andraste’s knickers, Cullen, it sounds significantly more inappropriate when you repeat it like that.”

            Cullen’s face is red, probably the same color as Addison’s. “I didn’t repeat it like anything,” he protested.

            “That’s a dirty lie.” Addison managed to regain her composure as she smoothed her skirts down. “You were properly scandalized, if I’m not mistaken.”

            “You were mistaken,” Cullen said flatly.

            “Lies. All lies.” Addison gently pushed past him, wrinkling her nose at him as she did. “But yes, I’ll meet you in the courtyard an hour before sunset. For _innocent_ activities, so don’t get any ideas,” she deadpanned.

            She left Cullen coughing behind her, mumbling under his breath something about Addison being the one thinking thoughts that were far from innocent.

            Addison snorted, ignoring him as she made her way out of the great hall quickly. Her mood instantly plummeted once she reached her shared room, finding Rose inside with Lina reading on her lap and Rhys hanging off of her arm, standing on the mattress and watching Rose’s fingers trace the words on Lina’s book.

            Rose and Lina raised their heads the instant Addison stepped inside, and it only took Rhys another moment to notice Rose’s finger had disappeared from the page and then he looked up at Addison as well.

            _A month without them,_ Addison thought as her heart sinks. _They’re a handful, but they’re mine. My family in my home._

Rhys’s face lit up, and he immediately threw himself around Rose to the edge of the mattress. His hands moved rapidly with new signs that he’d learned from Grim, and Addison tried to keep up with both the pace and the sloppiness. Addison grinned, signing one of the few things she learned from Grim in her limited time with the Chargers.

            _“Happy?”_ She asked Rhys.

            _“Happy!”_ He signed back, beaming at Addison.

            She scooped him up in her arms, hugging the boy to her chest and letting him burrow his face into her neck.

            “You’re back early, Addie,” Rose said as she closed the book.

            “I have the afternoon off,” Addison replied, moving to sit down beside her and Lina. “What are you reading?”

            “Something from the library,” Lina explained very seriously, touching Addison’s arm to ensure her attention. “Addie, have you been to the library yet? It’s ginormous. I almost got lost, but Mama was tall enough so I could find her again.”

            “I haven’t been yet,” Addison admitted. “You should take me sometime after I get back.”

            “Get back? Do you have errands even on your afternoon off?” Rose asked, setting the book down beside her. The cover was plain, but the gold lettering on front read _The History of Dragons,_ because it was assuredly a book Lina picked out.

            Addison gave Rose an apologetic look as Rhys squirmed in her arms, readjusting himself so he was leaning away from Addison and could see everyone talking. “No. I have orders, though.” She moved her hand in circles on Rhys’s back, though the movement was more soothing for her than him. “I’ve been asked to go to Crestwood to work in an old fort there that the Inquisition’s reclaimed. Nearby villages haven’t been faring well, and they need more healers.”

            “Crestwood?” Rose asked loudly.

            “Isn’t that where Ilara is?” Lina tugged gently on Addison’s sleeve.

            “Yes and yes. I don’t know if I’ll see Ilara, though. I’ll be in the fort—Caer Bronach—for two weeks. Probably until I can train others in the basics. And then I’ll come back home. I’ll be gone for a month total.”

            Rose’s face clearly read that she was upset.

            “A month is a long time,” Lina said quietly.

            “Yes, it is.” Rose wrapped an arm around Lina’s waist. “Did they really just order you to go, Addie?”

            “Something like that, yes,” Addison answered. Then after a breath she continued, “I leave tomorrow morning.”

            It was quiet for several moments, and Rhys wiggled a bit in Addison’s hold. She glanced down to find him watching her with a frown, probably able to sense that something wasn’t quite right. Addison brushed her fingers through his curls in an attempt to reassure him.

            “We should get you packed, then,” Rose said, leaning forward until Lina hopped off of her lap and then standing. “Do you know if it’ll be any colder in Crestwood?”

            “No idea.”

            They spent the afternoon together, just the four of them. It didn’t take long to fold Addison’s few articles of clothing and put them in a bag, and after that Rose worked with Addison to try to sign to Rhys that Addison had to go on a long journey. They weren’t sure how much they were able to convey, but it seemed to be enough gathering Rhys immediately began to pout, clinging onto Addison’s arm.

            Addison took a turn reading to Lina, the book droning on about the six types of frost dragons. Lina, however, seemed absolutely enraptured. It gave Rose the opportunity to slip away for an hour and help prepare dinner in the kitchens before returning, bringing fresh bread with her and some spring berries.

            They ate as a family, and as Addison thought about it, she realized again that this truly was her family here. And it only made it more difficult to think that she’d be leaving them tomorrow at dawn.

            Rhys, having stuffed himself full of bread, was asleep by the time Addison told Rose and Lina she would be out only for a little while before coming back for bed.

            “Going to see Cullen?” Rose asked innocently.

            Addison laughed. “Going to see Cullen,” she confirmed.

            “Mama, why is she going to talk with Commander Cullen?” Lina asked, but Addison was already out the door and left at Rose’s mercy for whatever she decided to tell the girl.

            Warm orange light flooded the courtyard, which was finally beginning to turn a darker green as spring progressed and neared summer. It was beautiful, even if it did occasionally make Addison sneeze.

            The courtyard was relatively empty, and she found Cullen toward the edge, sitting at a table and setting up a chess board.

            Addison arched an eyebrow as she approached. “So, this is the exceedingly innocent activity you have planned for tonight?”

            Cullen looked up at her as she approached and smiled, not getting too flustered this time, though he rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully. “I remember you mentioned once you enjoyed playing chess.”

            “I enjoy _winning_ chess,” Addison said with a laugh, sliding into the iron chair. They were under a courtyard awning, vines creeping down around them and keeping the setting sun from shining in Addison’s eyes. “But I think I might be a little rusty.”

            “Good. Because I enjoy winning as well,” Cullen answered immediately, his smile broadening. “Do you remember the rules?”

            “I think so.” Addison squinted at the board. “The little ones in front can only move forward, right? And the horses—they go... diagonal?” She chose a knight and gestured wildly over the board. “Oh, and the pointy ones,” she grabbed a bishop, greatly enjoying the horrified expression on Cullen’s face. “They go any direction, right?” She mimicked the queen’s movements. “Yes, that’s right. Okay, I’m ready to play.”

            “Um,” Cullen cleared his throat. “Maybe we should review the movements of each piece. Just for my sake.”

Addison burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the courtyard. It was a sound she’d forgotten that she could make, one that was full and left her gasping with breath, squeaking slightly in breathlessness.

            Cullen seemed to catch on. “Oh, yes, very funny Addison.” He sighed, putting the pieces back in their proper places. He couldn’t entirely hide his amusement, however, as his lips quirked up.

            “It was. You should’ve seen your face. Oh, damn it, I should’ve left you thinking I didn’t know how to play. You could’ve explained it all very patiently to me,” Addison rested her elbow on the table and her chin on her hand, leaning forward mischievously.

            Cullen snorted. “And yet I still would beat you.”

            “Oh, the game is on.” Addison smirked. She wasn’t actually a competitive person, but she loved the way Cullen’s amused smile turned into a slightly cocky grin—it was just as rare as Addison’s full laugh. It was something special for the two of them, something that other people didn’t often see.

            Cullen won the first chess game, and the one after that, too. Addison didn’t mind. Her father always won, as did her brother, when she played as a child. The one time she bested her brother he’d sulked for days.

            Addison recalled the story to Cullen as they walked around the courtyard slowly, hands clasped. In return, Cullen told Addison about the games he used to play with his sister Mia, about how they were the quieter siblings while his other sister and brother were always loud, constantly daring each other to do something more outrageous every day.

            “Do you miss them?” Addison asked softly as they came to a stop at the edge of the courtyard, underneath one of the large trees with branches that cascaded down like a weeping willow.

            Cullen hesitated, his thumb running absently over Addison’s knuckles. “I don’t think of my life then very often—my life with them. But when I do… yes, I miss them.”

            “Are you still in touch?”

            Cullen ducked his head, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “Not as much as I should be. Mia writes regularly in complaint of this. I… may have forgotten to write anyone after the attack on Haven. The letter I received once they’d heard of the Inquisition alive and well in Skyhold was rather strongly worded.”

“So I imagine,” Addison answered, giving him a disapproving look, though it had no force behind it. “I try to write my parents often, but it’s still not enough for my mother. By the time I have one letter on the way, I’ve received two from her, the second chastising me for not keeping in better contact and worrying incessantly.”

            Cullen chuckled, but then his eyes turned serious. “She’s right to worry. I worry for you as well.”

            Addison rolled her eyes. “The world is falling apart, Cullen. I think it’s safe to say we should all be worried for each other.” She brought their bound hands up to her lips and kissed Cullen’s wrist. “I worry for you just as much,” she admitted, though she kept her tone light.

            “But you would never send me off into harm’s way,” Cullen said darkly, his brow furrowing.

            Addison caught his meaning. “You’re not sending me into anything, Cullen. I’m the Inquisition’s apothecary—and training to be a healer. I chose to serve the Inquisition, and with that choice comes a little bit of risk.”

            “Crestwood isn’t safe.” Cullen drew a little closer to Addison. “I would not wish for you to be there.”

            “I’ll be fine.” Addison squeezed his hand gently, hoping that she was telling the truth. “Besides, I’ve never been to Crestwood before. It’ll be an adventure.”

            Cullen exhaled sharply. “When did you become an optimist?” He asked, some of the tension seeming to leave his shoulders.

            Addison snorted. “I’m not an optimist. I’ve just listened to Lina too much and have started seeing everything has some sort of exciting journey, I’m sure.”

            . “Surely,” he agreed. Then he looked at Addison with something so soft in his eyes that Addison wondered if it was possible for her self-proclaimed icy heart to melt. “I have something for you.” Cullen let his hand fall away from Addison’s as he reached inside his coat.

            Addison watched him in confusion. “What. Why?”

            Cullen laughed, the sound short and quiet. “If this is how you react to gifts, remind me never to get you something in the future.”

            Addison flushed. “I just—I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I was just surprised.”

            “I know. This isn’t much, really. It’s just—the day I left for Templar training, my brother gave me this.” Cullen held out the object he retrieved from his coat. It was a small coin of some kind, off-white, with a serene but fierce face engraved on the front. “It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck,” Cullen spoke, looking at the coin with no small amount of fondness. “Templars are not supposed to carry such things,” he met Addison’s eyes wryly. “Our faith should see us through.”

            “Breaking the rules? And here I thought you were always the perfect chantry boy,” Addison teased, but she hadn’t missed the way Cullen’s voice had grown warm.

            “Until a year ago, I was very good at following rules,” he replied, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Most of the time.”

            “Admit it, Cullen, this was the only rule you broke up until you joined the Inquisition.”

            “I admit nothing,” Cullen answered with another laugh. He held the coin out, raising his palm. “This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the Templars didn’t give me. I’d… like you to have it.”

            Addison felt her heart skip a beat, both because everything from Cullen was so soft and warm and because he was offering her something so clearly precious to him. “Cullen, this was your brother’s gift to you.”

            “And a token that brought me any luck, for many years.” Cullen gently took Addison’s hand with his free one, then placed the coin in her palm. “Humor me. I don’t know what Crestwood will bring you.”

            Addison’s fingers curled around the coin, her eyes growing wet without her consent. She quickly blinked away the feeling. “Well whatever’s in Crestwood, I’ll have luck with me.” She placed the coin in the pocket of her skirts. “Thank you, Cullen.”

            He nodded, his gaze fixed on Addison’s face before he leaned forward, his arms encircling Addison and bringing her forward, tucking her into his chest.

            She hugged him back, ignoring the metallic hard edges of his chest plate and instead burying her nose in the furs of his coat. They held each other, breathing each other in.

            “Be safe,” Cullen whispered in her ear as he finally drew back.

            Addison leaned in, kissing him slowly. Their lips met again and again, allowing gentle intakes of air until it was their tongues meeting instead, the softness fading into something more desperate.

            Cullen’s grip around Addison’s waist tightened, as if he were afraid she would disappear if he didn’t hold on. Addison let her hands slide from his back to instead lock behind his neck, pulling him even closer, until all worries were gone from Addison’s mind and her only thoughts were of safety and home, and something that felt a lot like love.

            When Addison finally pulled away for air, she was panting slightly, and felt every bit as dazed as Cullen looked. His eyes roamed across her face, and he cupped her cheek lightly, pressing a chaste kiss to her mouth before stepping back.

            “Will you write me?” Cullen asked.

            “I thought you were terrible at writing letters.”

            Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “For you, I’ll try.”


End file.
